In Blackest Envy
by lisakodysam
Summary: Sequel to The Enemy Within.Gabby Surana fights to protect Nathaniel as he is falsely accused of murder.Who is framing him, and what lengths will they go to in order to cover their tracks? And just what is going on in the Fade? Surana, Anders, Nate & Varel
1. The Man Of My Dreams

_This story is a sequel to, and a direct continuation of, 'The Enemy Within'. If you haven't read it, you may find it helpful to read at least the final chapter to give you some background._

_To those of you who have read it, the first couple of chapters of this story are going to be a little less angsty and dramatic; I hope they won't seem like an anti-climax. I ask you to bear with me, and normal service will be resumed shortly ;)_

_A huge thanks, as always, to Jen for rescuing my mangled sentences, and for staying up so late to do so :)  
_

~x~X~x~

Nathaniel caught Gabby just as her legs gave way. The arrest warrant fluttered to the ground; the Templars, taken aback by her reaction, stepped away. Varel and Anders, along with some of the Keep staff, ran to Nathaniel's side, taking Gabby from him.

"Get her upstairs!" Varel yelled.

Anders nodded to one of the Keep's soldiers, and the two of them supported Gabby as they took her up to her room. "Keep your mouth shut!" Anders whispered to Nathaniel as they passed him.

"Murder?" Varel said sternly to Ser Ambrose. "That is a serious charge, Ser. What evidence have you of Warden Howe's involvement?"

"There is compelling evidence connecting Howe with the crime," Ser Ambrose replied. "That evidence will be presented upon our return to the Circle Tower."

"You don't intend to take him to Denerim, then?" Varel asked.

"No, Ser," Ambrose replied. "He has Knight-Commander Smyth to thank for that. He insisted that Howe be brought to the Tower, where he will receive fair and equitable treatment while the investigation is carried out."

Nathaniel stepped forward. "I am Nathaniel Howe, Ser," he said quietly. "What happened to Cullen? What is this evidence you speak of?"

"That will be revealed in time," Ser Ambrose said coolly. "Come willingly, Ser, and you will be treated fairly. You have my word."

"I have nothing to hide," Nathaniel declared. "I will go willingly. May I pack some belongings, first?" he requested.

Ambrose grunted and nodded at two of his Knights. "Go with him," he ordered. The Templars gestured for Nathaniel to lead the way, and the three of them disappeared down the corridor.

"Wait," Varel said to Ser Ambrose. "He's not going alone. I want someone to accompany him. Two of our mages have been assigned to the Circle Tower to reside as instructors; they can go with him."

"Out of the question," Ambrose began, shaking his head dismissively. "Howe may have had an accomplice, for all we know."

"The only 'accomplice' he would have had, Ser, was the Warden-Commander!" Varel responded angrily. "Do you really think that she, an elven mage, would be capable of killing a Templar?"

"Of course not!" Ambrose huffed. "But we cannot allow an ally or potential accomplice to accompany Howe."

"Then we have a problem, Ser," Varel said quietly, moving his hand to the hilt of his sword; several other men in the room followed suit, and the two remaining Templars behind Ser Ambrose shifted nervously. "Either the mages go with him, or he stays here," Varel insisted. "The choice is yours."

Oghren appeared at Varel's side and grunted at Ser Ambrose as he wielded his huge axe. "Are we gonna have a problem, tin can?" he taunted as he rapped Ambrose's breastplate with his fist. "I sure hope so," he added with a grim smile as he twirled his weapon in his hands. "My baby ain't seen action for a long time, and I miss cleaning the gore off of her."

Ser Ambrose regarded Oghren for a moment, and, seeing the hungry gleam in his eyes, decided he would rather return to the Circle Tower with his legs attached to his body. "Alright!" he snapped, holding his hands up. "They can come."

"You will have to wait until they are packed," said Varel. "You may sit, if you wish," he offered, gesturing toward the dining table. "Let us be civil."

"We will stand, if it is all the same to you," Ser Ambrose sniffed.

"Siddown!" Oghren growled. "Where we can keep an eye on you!"

"I would advise the mage-killers to obey its command," a dispassionate voice boomed from a corner of the room. "It has an unhealthy obsession with dismemberment."

The Templars nearly fell over each other as they set eyes on Shale, and dutifully sat down at the _far _end of the table.

"Does it see?" Shale said to Oghren, "all that is needed is a little friendly persuasion."

~x~X~x~

"Alright, I'll see to her now," Anders said to the Keep soldier after they had helped Gabby to her room. "Thanks, mate," he said with a grim smile. The soldier nodded and departed, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Gabby sat slumped on her bed; her head was hung low and her hands lay limply in her lap. Anders, at a loss as to what to say, sat next to her and took one of her hands in his. He watched her carefully. Occasionally, her body twitched, as though she was hiccupping; her mouth opened a few times as though she intended to speak, but no sound came out.

Varel appeared outside the door and stood a respectful distance away. Anders looked up at him, and then stared down at the floor. "Anders…" Gabby croaked.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he asked gently.

Gabby took a deep, shaky breath, as though she would need every ounce of her strength to speak. "Put me to sleep," she mumbled.

"Alright," Anders replied, nodding in understanding. He stood up and placed one arm across her shoulders; the other under her knees, and swivelled her into a lying position, so she lay facing the wall. Her face crumpled and turned red as she desperately fought back tears. "Anders," she cried, grabbing his arm. "Don't let them take Nate before I wake up!"

"I won't, I promise," he whispered, stroking her hair. "Ready?"

Gabby nodded and closed her eyes. Thin tendrils of white light appeared around her, floated upwards and dissipated, and her body was momentarily bathed in a white glow. Her head lolled back and her mouth fell open as she lost consciousness.

"Come in, Varel," Anders said quietly.

Varel entered and sighed heavily as he closed the door. "Why have you put her to sleep?" he whispered.

"I think she may try to look for him in the Fade," Anders replied, then shrugged his shoulders.

"You mean Knight-Commander Cullen?" Varel asked, to which Anders nodded. "Were they well-acquainted, then?"

Anders looked at Varel sadly. "They were…" he sighed, "…close."

"Oh," Varel said in surprise. "I had no idea," he said quietly. "Could he be…?"

"It's not his," Anders replied, shaking his head. "It's definitely the King's."

Varel looked at Gabby with pity in his eyes. "Do you think she will be able to find Cullen?" he asked.

Anders groaned. "I don't fancy her chances, to be honest," he said glumly. "The Fade is infinite, and is always shifting…changing," he explained. "If the Templars suspect Nate, then Cullen must have died, well…a week ago. He may be out of her reach, by now."

"Do you think she wants to ask him what happened? How he died?" Varel asked.

"I doubt it," Anders replied. "When someone passes over into the Fade – permanently, I mean – supposedly they retain very little knowledge of their former life," he explained. "With each day that passes, their memory fades," he continued. "Even if Gabby did find him, which is unlikely, I doubt he'd even remember her. I think she just wants to know he's alright, you know?"

Varel clasped his chin and watched as Gabby twitched and mumbled in her sleep. "Is there nothing you can do to help her, Anders?" he asked.

Anders shook his head. "The only way Gabby would have any chance of finding him would be if he left a marker of some kind," he replied. "Now, a mage would know how to do that, but…a Templar?" he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, Varel," he said, looking up at the older man. "I don't know everything about the Fade, and there may be things that one only learns upon actually dying."

~x~X~x~

Gabby walked along the featureless, barren landscape she found herself in, studying her surroundings. Several routes were available to her; each of them with an infinite number of ways branching off of them. "Hello?" she called, her voice falling flat against the penetrating silence. There was no breeze to carry her voice; no features or structures for the sound to bounce off.

She sighed and turned up the nearest available path, walking steadily uphill until she reached a dead end. She was just about to turn back, when a bright light appeared before her, emanating from the ground. She shielded her eyes until it subsided; in front of her stood a white pedestal, covered in silver runes.

She took a step back and frowned. The last time she had seen anything like this was in the Sloth Demon's domain. She crouched down and examined the runes; they were unfamiliar and meant nothing to her. Hesitating for a moment, she turned back the way she had come, and headed up the next available path. A light appeared in front of her once again, and another pedestal materialised; seemingly identical to the first.

She tried a third path, and a fourth; both yielding the same result. She sat on a rocky ledge and pondered her situation for a moment. She was hesitant to touch the pedestals, but on the other hand, they appeared to be her only way out, unless she waited until she woke up. Anders had put her into a deep sleep, and she would be there for at least a few hours. Rising to her feet, she cautiously approached the pedestal. She held her breath as she reached out toward it, and closed her eyes again as she was temporarily blinded by white light.

She blinked several times and shielded her eyes; it was not the white light that blinded her, however, but the sun. As her eyes adjusted, she looked around and found herself in a field of knee-high golden barley that seemed to stretch infinitely away in all directions. As the sun disappeared behind a cloud, she looked upward and gasped in awe, having never before seen a blue sky in the Fade.

Her eyes moved downwards and surveyed the landscape. A small cottage stood a few hundred feet away from her; plumes of smoke billowed from its chimney, and an axe stood next to a pile of freshly-chopped wood just outside. Apple and cherry trees were dotted around, and tufts of pink and white cherry blossom danced in the air, carried on the breeze.

A soft snorting sound caught her attention, and, looking to her left, she was delighted to see wild horses frolicking and playing in the distance. She heard the sound of dogs barking, and of soft laughter, just on the periphery of hearing. She closed her eyes and let the breeze caress her face, taking a deep, cleansing breath. As she opened her eyes, she realised she was smiling. Unlike so many other parts of the Fade she had traversed before, there was nothing sinister or unsettling about this place; it was wholesome, pure, and full of joy.

"I knew you'd come," a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

Gabby closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then slowly turned around.

In front of a huge oak tree stood Cullen, dressed in a simple white tunic and wheat-coloured breeches. They walked cautiously towards one another, taking each other in. He seemed younger than the last time she'd seen him. His skin, though pale as it always was, glowed with a healthy pink tint; the deep frown lines on his forehead and between his eyes were gone, and his warm amber eyes gently glowed like the embers of a dying fire. His hair was a little longer, and a halo of soft auburn curls framed his face. Everything about him was softened, less severe.

"Do-do you remember me?" she asked hesitantly.

His eyes crinkled slightly as he studied her face carefully. "Sunny…?" he guessed incorrectly, and shook his head. "No, that's not right…wait…Samsara?"

"Surana," Gabby replied with a smile.

"Surana…" Cullen repeated to himself. "Yes…yes, Surana!" he said triumphantly, and then studied her again. "That's not your first name, though, is it?" he asked. Gabby shook her head. Cullen thought for several moments, a small crease forming between his eyes. He finally looked at her, a proud smile on his face. "Gabby," he said confidently.

"You _do _remember me!" she exclaimed.

"No," he replied uncertainly. "I-I'm not sure…it's like trying to remember a dream. But you _do _seem very familiar to me," he said softly. "I'm just not sure how, that's all."

"We're friends, Cullen," she replied, choosing her words cautiously. There were certain things she didn't _want _him to remember, and resolved to be careful what she told him.

"Yes, you do seem the friendly sort," he said with a shy grin. Gabby's stomach fluttered. This was the old Cullen; the man she had fallen in love with so long ago. She ventured a glance at his arms; they were covered in fine, golden hair and freckles. There was not a single scar to be seen.

"Cullen," she asked hesitantly, "do you remember how you came to be here?"

He shook his head. "That is one thing I cannot remember, no matter how hard I try. The first thing I remember is finding myself here, by this tree," he recalled. "Then I realised that someone may come looking for me, and that I needed to leave something for them to find me by," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Somehow, I knew what to do."

"Did you leave the pedestals for me?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "I knew that someone would be coming, but couldn't remember who," he said sheepishly. "Now that I've seen you, I know you were the one."

"Can I use them again?" she asked, "if I wanted to return? If…you wanted me to return, that is," she added shyly.

"Yes, they will always be there for you," he answered, his face brightening. "And I would very much like for you to return."

"I will return later, if that's alright, when I go to sleep," she ventured. "I have to go for the time being."

"Yes," he replied. "Return later, and I will show you around my domain."

"I look forward to it," she said with a hitch in her voice. "Farewell, for now."

"Farewell…Gabby," he answered with a warm smile. "Until later."

~x~X~x~

Anders remained with Gabby after Varel had left to stall the Templars' departure. He became aware that she had stilled, and was no longer twitching or murmuring to herself; signifying that she had left the Fade. He laid a hand on her shoulder and reversed the sleep spell; she groaned softly and stirred.

"Gabby," he whispered, gently shaking her by the shoulder.

Her eyes opened and she slowly sat up, with a little help from Anders. "Any luck?" he asked.

"I found him, Anders," she said softly, as her eyes brimmed with tears.

"Really?" Anders gasped in awe. "But, how?"

"He left a marker for me," she replied, wiping her eyes.

"What a clever little biscuit he is!" Anders said with a grin, and planted a firm kiss on her temple. "Did he remember you?" he asked.

Gabby shook her head softly. "He remembered my name, with a little help," she replied, "and said I seemed familiar to him, but…"

"But what?" Anders prompted.

"He…he doesn't remember anything else, Anders," she said as her voice wavered. "He doesn't remember…" her voice failed and her body shook with silent sobs.

"Oh, Gabby…" Anders said sadly, pulling her close. "I'm so sorry."

"No, you don't understand," Gabby said unsteadily. "He doesn't remember Uldred, or the demon, or any of that…he doesn't even remember being a Templar," she explained. "He's free of it, Anders. He can start over. I'm happy for him," she said as she dissolved into tears, and laid her head on Anders' shoulder.

"That's wonderful, Gabs," Anders said genuinely, and they sat together on the bed for a little while, until Gabby had gathered herself.

"Nate…is he alright?" Gabby asked suddenly.

Anders nodded his head. "He's still here," he reassured her. "Varel won't let the Templars leave until everyone is ready, and that is taking a _long _time. Listen," Anders said quietly. "The Templars are going to take him back to the Tower, to help with their investigation."

"No!" she cried, standing up. "They think he killed Cullen! They'll take him to Denerim!"

"No," Anders replied, shaking his head. "Varel told me that the new Knight-Commander wanted him to go back to the Tower. Apparently Nate was satisfied with that."

"The _new_ Knight-Commander?" she asked. "Do you mean Smyth?"

"Varel didn't mention his name," Anders replied, "but he said Nate trusts him."

"It must be Smyth," Gabby surmised. "He's a good man. I think Nate will be treated fairly."

Anders looked at her dubiously, and then shrugged his shoulders. "Varel insisted that Chauncey and Padraig go back with him, so he won't be alone," he told her. "He obviously doesn't trust those bastards any more than I do."

"Some of those bastards are your fellow Wardens, now, Anders," she chided.

"Not yet, they're not," he said sourly.

"Anders, do you really think I would have recruited arsehole Templars?" she asked, sitting back down on the bed. "They're all decent men."

Anders looked at her doubtfully. "If you say so," he mumbled. "It'll just take a bit of getting used to, that's all."

"You get on with everyone, Anders," Gabby said with a soft smile. "You didn't like Nate at first, remember?"

"I don't like him now," he countered.

"You don't fool me," Gabby replied. "You're like brothers, and you argue just as brothers do." Anders glanced at her and grinned wryly.

The two of them sat quietly for a few moments. "Gabs," Anders said after a while, "do you have any idea who would have…you know…Cullen?"

She shook her head sadly. "It could have been anyone," she said quietly. "He made a lot of enemies when he…wasn't himself," she added. "It wasn't Nate, though," she said firmly, "that much I do know. He didn't particularly like Cullen, but he wouldn't do that."

"Then why do they suspect him?" Anders asked.

"One of Nate's daggers went missing before we left," she replied. "I can't help thinking it's something to do with that."

"You think someone tried to frame him?" Anders asked incredulously.

Gabby stood up again and started pacing the room. "Ambrose…" she mumbled. "I think I bumped into him while I was at the Tower. Seems very 'by the book', but I don't know him, or any of the other Templars he brought with him," she said to herself, and then glanced at Anders. "I want someone else to go with them," she said.

"Do you think Ambrose may have had something to do with it?" Anders asked.

"I'm not saying that," she replied, "but I'm not taking any chances. I want a non-magi going with them. I know Nate can handle himself, but I think even he would struggle against five Templars if they tried any funny business, and Chauncey and Padraig would be no help to him in that case."

"That's good thinking, boss," Anders replied. "Who were you thinking of?"

"Varel," she replied. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather have in my corner, and he can handle himself in a fight, as well."

"But don't the two of you have tons of work to do?" Anders asked.

"Nate comes first," she replied. "Besides, you're soon to become the Arl of Amaranthine. What better way for you to learn than to be thrown in at the deep end?"

Anders blanched. "Arl…of Amaranthine?" he gasped. "I…hadn't thought of that…"

"Oh, how sweet," she said with a soft smile. "You're not marrying me for the power, then."

"Oh, Maker," Anders groaned.

"Anders," she said, taking a seat next to him, "are you sure about this? About us getting married, I mean? I know what you're like for making rash decisions then regretting them later."

"Of course I'm sure," he reassured her.

"But this is not you deciding to drink an extra bottle of wine, then regretting it the following day," Gabby said earnestly. "This is…big, Anders. Maybe the biggest decision you'll ever make in your life. I just don't want to think you can't back out, because you can."

"I'm not going to back out, Gabs," he replied. "This is me doing a favour for a friend. Maker knows, you've done enough for me."

"I know, Anders, and I can't tell you how grateful I am," she said sincerely, "but I want you to know, if you change your mind, that's fine."

Anders eyes narrowed a little and he smiled lopsidedly. "Is this your way of telling me _you _want to back out?" he asked.

"No! Absolutely not," Gabby insisted. "I…well, I have to get married, don't I?" she said softly, "and who better to marry than one of my best friends?"

"But are _you _alright with this?" Anders asked carefully. "With you and Cullen, I mean…now that you've found him, the two of you may pick up from where you left off."

"I really can't say what will happen with Cullen," she murmured quietly. "He doesn't really know me anymore, does he? And besides, you and I are not marrying for romantic reasons, are we?"

"No, definitely not," Anders replied emphatically. "This is just a friend doing another friend a favour. So you don't need to feel guilty about anything." He paused for a moment, and then shook his head. "No," he repeated. "Definitely not for romantic reasons."

Gabby smiled softly at him, and then rose from the bed. "Come on," she said to Anders, holding out her hand. "I'm going to need my finest powers of persuasion to convince Varel to go with Nate and leave the two of us in charge. I'll need my charming friend Anders for this."

The easily-flattered mage took her hand and grinned widely as he stood up. "Well, if I'm going to be Arl," he said slyly, "I can just order Varel to go, can't I?"

"You're not Arl yet, you know," she said with a smile, "and I've never ordered Varel to do anything. He's the one who truly runs this Arling, not me; never be in any doubt about that."

"How are you planning to persuade him, then?" Anders asked as they exited the room.

"Oh, I don't know," she said with a shrug. "Just put on my puppy-dog eyes and hope for the best, I suppose. That won't be too hard with the way I feel at the moment," she added shakily.

Anders wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "And have the puppy-dog eyes ever worked on Varel before?" he asked.

"Never," she said firmly. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," he whispered as they headed downstairs.


	2. Who Watches The Watchers?

_My sincere thanks to those of you who have favourited, alerted and reviewed. You make my day all the brighter :-)_

_Special thanks to Jen for such a fast beta, and for keeping a careful eye on the 'said/asked' situation!_

~x~X~x~

As Anders and Gabby entered the dining hall, Nathaniel, who was sat at the dining table with the Templars, slowly stood up. "Gabby…?" he said anxiously, walking over to her. "Are-are you alright?" he asked, placing his hands on her shoulders. He was relieved that she did not flinch at his touch.

Gabby looked up at him and nodded solemnly. "They won't tell me a thing," he said quietly, "about…what happened. Gabby," he said quickly, "you know I had nothing to do with this, don't you?" he asked. "I don't care what they think," he added, gesturing toward the Templars. "I just need to know that you…you don't…"

Gabby's heart ached for him; she had never before seen him quite so unsure of himself. "Oh, Nathaniel, of course I don't," she said softly, cradling his face in her hands. Nathaniel bit his lip and nodded quickly.

"I know Cullen and I weren't the best of friends," he said, "but I would never have done that; not knowing how you felt about him."

"I know," Gabby reassured him.

Padraig and Chauncey entered the hall; they were packed and ready to leave, as was Nathaniel. Ser Ambrose rose to his feet. "Finally, we are ready to depart," he announced, motioning for his fellow Knights to stand.

"Not yet," Gabby said firmly, affecting her best 'Commander' voice. "Nathaniel, Varel, Anders – in the office," she instructed.

"Absolutely not!" Ser Ambrose cried with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I beg your pardon?" Gabby asked sharply.

"I cannot allow you to confer privately with the prisoner," Ambrose said officiously. "You could be planning all sorts of things, for all I know."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Anders snapped. "You bloody Templars, always willing to see bad in other people, whilst painting yourselves as pure, and chaste, and all that crap," he spluttered ineloquently. "I could tell you a few tales about some of the Templars at the Tower that'd make your prissy little toes curl!" he spat.

Gabby and Varel both placed a hand on Anders' arm. "I'm sorry," Anders said to Gabby, "I know I'm not being helpful, but they've got the wrong man," he said resolutely. "Nate had nothing to do with this," he said to Ambrose.

"Whether or not that is true will be determined in time," Ambrose replied disdainfully. "You have done your best to delay us," he said to Varel, "but no more. We leave immediately."

Gabby stepped forward. "My men and I are going into the office," she said tersely, her nerves on a knife-edge. "You may join us, if you wish, to ensure that we are not plotting to assassinate the Grand Cleric, or something similarly incongruous," she said scornfully, turning toward the office, her men following her.

"Well, I never!" Ser Ambrose huffed, and then followed them to the office; Anders entered before him, letting the door swing back to hit him. The Wardens and Varel sat in chairs placed around her desk; Ambrose, not being offered a seat, closed the door and stood next to it.

"Varel," said Gabby, "I am about to say something, and I don't want any arguments. This is not up for discussion."

Varel looked at her curiously. "What is it, Commander?" he asked.

"I want you to accompany Nathaniel to the Tower," she instructed him.

"No! This is too much!" Ser Ambrose interrupted.

"Was I talking to you?" Gabby snapped at him.

"Yeah, keep your fucking nose out, Templar!" Anders added.

"This is just another delay tactic!" Ambrose exclaimed indignantly, gesticulating wildly. "We should have departed hours ago! You have done everything you can to obstruct us, and this will be noted in my report!"

"Well, you know what you can do with your report, don't you?" Anders asked brashly. "And if you don't, I'd be happy to show you." Ser Ambrose folded his arms and glared back at him.

"Commander," Varel said to Gabby, "while I agree with your idea, there is far too much for you and I to do here. You should send someone else with Nathaniel."

"No, Varel," she said, shaking her head. "It has to be you. I want a non-magi to accompany Nathaniel, and I can think of no one I would rather have at his side. My decision is made," she said finally, surprising herself with her firmness.

"Commander," Varel replied with equal firmness, "you cannot manage on your own; there is too much to do, and you are supposed to be _resting _at the moment," he said in a veiled reference to her pregnancy.

"I _need _to work at the moment, Varel," she replied. "To…to keep my mind occupied. And Anders is going to help me. Nathaniel comes before everything else, as far as I'm concerned."

"Gabby," Nathaniel urged, "Varel is correct; even with Anders' help, there is too much for you to do. I will be alright," he assured her. "I know I am innocent, and I am confident that I will be absolved of this crime."

"No, dear friend," Gabby countered. "Something is not right about all of this. I don't know any of these Templars; they could take you anywhere, for all I know…"

"Oh, please!" Ser Ambrose interrupted.

Anders pushed his chair back and stood up. "You're really starting to piss me off, you know!" he yelled at Ambrose.

"Anders, sit down!" Varel commanded. Anders glared at Varel for a moment, and then collapsed in a sulky heap in his chair.

"Varel, please go and pack your things," Gabby said in a tone of voice that would suffer no argument.

"Commander…" Varel began.

"Please don't make me order you, Varel," Gabby replied calmly, although her tension was obvious.

Varel considered her words for a moment, and then rose to his feet with a sigh. "That will not be necessary, Commander," he said respectfully. "I will begin packing immediately."

"Thank you, Varel," she said sincerely.

"Warden-Commander, I must protest!" Ambrose exclaimed. "There are already too many travelling with us, and this will only serve to delay us further!"

Gabby rose to her feet; Nathaniel and Anders followed suit. "Varel _will _be travelling with you," she informed Ambrose, her voice deadly calm, "and you can put that, and anything else you like, in your blasted report!"

"Well, he will have to bring his own provisions, then!" Ambrose spluttered impotently, knowing he had been bested. "We do not have enough for all of these extra people!"

"He won't need to," Gabby informed him. "Nathaniel is the finest hunter this side of the Waking Sea," she said proudly. Nathaniel allowed himself a faint smile.

"He will _not _be allowed to carry a weapon!" Ser Ambrose insisted.

"He will if you want to eat anything other than dried meat and stale bread," Varel said calmly as he opened the door and exited with Nathaniel close behind.

Gabby and Anders glared at Ser Ambrose. "Is there any reason you're still here?" Gabby asked him irritably. The Knight-Lieutenant grunted and closed the door on his way out.

"So much for my powers of persuasion," Gabby said ruefully, slumping back into her chair. "I more or less had to threaten him to make him go."

Anders took a seat beside her. "Well, I wasn't exactly at my charming best, either, was I?" he reflected with a shrug, "but Varel _is _going with Nate – we didn't get there the way we planned, but we _did _get there," he said cheerfully.

Gabby sank further down in her chair and turned her head toward Anders. "You always find the silver lining, don't you?" she asked said with a warm smile.

"Well, someone has to," he replied with a wink, "and it may as well be me." Anders noticed that Gabby's hands were shaking, and gently clasped them, stroking them with his thumbs. "You're having a lie down when they've gone," he said insistently.

"No, Anders," she replied, shaking her head. "There is far too much to do. Look at this," she said, gesturing toward a four-inch high stack of papers.

"What are they?" Anders asked.

"Requisitions, letters needing replies, invoices, receipts, bills," she said heavily, "all of which require either my, Varel's or Nathaniel's attention and signature."

"Well, tell me what to do, and we'll split the pile," Anders offered.

"But you're not a signatory," Gabby protested.

"Then make me one," he suggested. "Seems simple enough to me."

Gabby laughed softly. "You're right, Anders," she replied. "It is simple. Alright, when they've all gone, I'll show you the ropes, and make you a signatory."

Anders clapped his hands together. "When Varel and Nate return, we won't even need them!" he declared optimistically.

"I hope you're not forced to eat those words, Anders," she chuckled, feeling her spirits lift a little in his presence.

"Speaking of eating," said Anders, rubbing his growling tummy, "can we go and get some grub? My belly feels like my throat's been cut!"

Gabby sighed wearily. "You go, Anders," she said. "I don't feel like anything."

"_Oh_, no," he remonstrated, pulling her up by her hands. "Little baby Gabby might be hungry. Just have a bit of soup, or something, to keep your strength up."

"Alright," she acceded, leaning against Anders' chest. He wrapped his arms around her and laid his head atop hers.

"Everything will work out, Gabs," he murmured softly against her hair. "I promise."

~x~X~x~

"Come!" Knight-Commander Smyth answered in response to the knock at his office door.

Two Templars entered, one of whom locked the door, and they sat down without being invited. Ser Smyth folded his arms and glowered at them.

"Howe will arrive here in little under a week," the first Templar said; the second remained silent. "Everything will be in place by then. You know what you have to do?" he asked Smyth.

"I know what you're telling me to do," Smyth snapped, "but that doesn't mean I will do it."

"You _will_ do it," the Templar replied, "or else you will be taking a trip to the Aeonar at Dragon's Peak."

"And who will replace me?" Smyth asked acidly. "How many Knight-Commanders do you people intend to get through?"

"Do not trouble yourself with specifics, dear fellow," the Templar replied with an unwholesome smile. "Just do as you are told, and all will be well."

"No, I won't do it!" Smyth said angrily, slapping the desk with his hand. "You are asking me to frame an innocent and honourable man! You _know _who killed Knight-Commander Cullen, yet you do nothing! Aren't you people supposed to root out errant Templars?"

The Templar's laugh was like broken glass. "But the culprits saved _us_ the trouble of dealing with him!" he exclaimed.

"_Culprits_?" Smyth gasped, leaning forward across the desk. "You mean there was more than one conspirator?"

"Somebody would have offed him eventually," the Templar replied. "In fact, they couldn't have timed it better. We were just about to put a stop to Cullen."

"Put a stop to him?" asked Smyth. "What do you mean?"

"Well, without realising it, he'd been doing our work for us for several months," the Templar explained, "punishing the Knights for the tiniest of infractions!" The two Templars glanced at one another and laughed. "But," he continued, "toward the end he _was _getting a little heavy handed. Questions would have been asked if we hadn't acted. Somebody had a beef with him, and did the dirty work for us."

"But why involve Howe?" Smyth demanded. "What does he have to do with any of this?"

The first Templar shrugged his shoulders. "It's nothing personal against the Warden, you understand," he explained, "but it was well known he had a problem with Cullen. He's as good a scapegoat as any, I suppose…"

"Why is he being made a scapegoat at all?" Smyth interrupted. "Why are the true perpetrators not being brought to justice?"

"Because it would cause all kinds of headaches for _us_," the Templar replied callously. "More prisoners to transport, paperwork, questions as to why _we _didn't apprehend Cullen…"

"You will pay for your wickedness one day!" Smyth retorted furiously. "Those who bear false witness and work to deceive others, know this: There is but one truth. All things are known to our Maker, and He shall judge their lies."

"Speaking of lies, we come to _you_, Smyth," the second Templar spoke at last. "We've known for a long time that you covered up for Cullen on more than one occasion; in fact you lied in a report to the Grand Cleric explaining the circumstances of Ser Magnusson's death. You _will _co-operate with us, or we will expose your complicity in Cullen's misdeeds, and have you tried as a heretic."

"Hang me if you wish!" Smyth bellowed. "I will have no part in this iniquity!"

"Hang you?" the first Templar asked, tutting to himself. "No…such an undignified way to die…" he glanced at the second Templar. "What do you think would be a fitting end for a Knight-Commander of the Circle?" he asked his fellow Knight.

"Well," the second Templar answered. "I have heard of a newly-incarcerated blood mage at Aeonar; completely insane, of course. I've heard he's quite lonely."

"It must be so difficult for blood mages to make friends," the first Templar said with mock sympathy, "particularly the insane ones. Conversation would be rather stilted, I would imagine."

"It would indeed," the second Templar agreed, with a sly glance at Smyth.

Smyth rose to his feet and placed his palms on the desk. "Your threats mean nothing to me!" he yelled. "Now, get out of here!" he ordered, pointing to the door. "The Grand Cleric shall hear of this," he threatened, "and if she chooses to punish me, so be it! I have no fear of death!"

The two Templars smirked at one another and stood up. "Such a shame you have decided to be unco-operative," the first Templar remarked. "Hey-ho," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "It was worth a try."

As they departed, the second Templar turned and addressed Smyth. "How is your sister, Tristan?" he asked casually.

"My what?" he answered, feeling panic seize his throat like a barbed claw.

"Your sister," the Templar repeated. "How does she fare?"

"You must be mistaken," Smyth replied brusquely. "I have no sister."

"No, I'm sure it was you who had a sister," the Templar said with a furrowed brow. "Lives along the Hafter River, doesn't she? Married, with three young children? Husband away working a lot?"

"No, 'tis not I," Smyth replied, aware that his face was reddening.

"Oh? My mistake," the Templar said cheerily. "Have a pleasant day, Knight-Commander," he said as he closed the door.

Smyth slumped into his chair, breathing heavily.

~x~X~x~

Varel mounted his horse in the Keep's courtyard, alongside Chauncey, Padraig and the Templars. Nathaniel stood next his steed, ignoring Ambrose's impatient groans, as he said his farewells. All of the Wardens – including the apostates, Agnes, Clemence and Gillespie – and the Warden recruits gathered around him to offer their prayers and best wishes.

"You are making a grave mistake," Ser Richardson said to Ambrose. "Nathaniel is a gentleman, and an honourable man," he said with certainty. Ballard, Willoughby and Bailey echoed his sentiments.

"I am here to remove Howe to the Circle Tower, and nothing more," Ambrose replied defensively, starting to feel slighted at the hostility shown toward him and the blame being attributed to him.

"We will pray for you, friend," said Ser Bailey, bowing low. Nathaniel gave them his sincere thanks, and shook their hands, secretly wishing them luck with the Joining.

He turned to Gabby, and discreetly slipped her a letter. "Will you see that Adela gets this, please?" he asked quietly. "I was supposed to call on her in Amaranthine after we returned from the Tower. She'll be getting worried."

"I'll take it myself, tomorrow," she promised.

"Thank you," Nathaniel replied. "Don't tell her about…this, though; it'll only worry her. Just say I've been delayed, or something. I'll explain to her when I return. _If_…"

"_When_," Gabby said emphatically. Nathaniel gazed at her for a moment, and pulled her into a hug.

"Look after her, Anders," he said as he released her.

"I will," Anders replied. "And look after yourself," he said, offering Nathaniel his hand.

Nathaniel shook it, turned away, and mounted his horse. "Behave yourselves, kids," he said cheekily.

"You'll be lost without us, Nate," Anders called up to him. "You'll have no one to patronise at the Tower!"

"The name's Nathaniel, _mage_," he replied good-humouredly. Anders answered with a two-fingered salute; Nathaniel responded with one of his own, but using fewer fingers.

"Don't forget, Commander," Varel whispered to Gabby as he leaned down to speak to her, "the King may be paying you a visit in due course."

"How could I?" she mumbled. "Varel," she said, clasping his arm, "don't take your eyes off him," she pleaded. "Not for a second."

"Understood, Commander," Varel replied gravely, then slapped Gabby's shoulder and winked at her.

Gabby approached Chauncey and Padraig. "I want the two of you to write to me after your first day at the Tower," she instructed them, "and if any of the Templars give you grief, I want you to inform me immediately."

"Don't worry, Gabby," Padraig replied with a pointed glance at the mounted Knights. "I can handle the Templars."

"Write to me all the same," Gabby insisted.

"We will," Chauncey promised.

Gabby and Anders followed the entourage as they exited the Vigil's gate, and watched as they travelled along the Howe Road, until they disappeared from sight; then turned and walked back toward the Keep in silence.


	3. And Then There Were Two

_My sincere thanks to those of you who have stuck with the story so far, and have taken the time to leave a review. Thanks also for your PMs._

~x~X~x~

Gabby and Anders walked back to the Keep, and, once inside, gathered the Wardens and Templar recruits around them. "Anders and Oghren are the two most senior Wardens here, now," Gabby informed them, "and are in charge in my absence." A murmur of understanding rippled through the small group. "Oghren," she said to the dwarf, "Anders and I are going to try to get some of the paperwork done; we'll be in the office should you need us." Oghren grunted in reply.

She turned toward the Templar recruits. "The Joining will take place tomorrow morning," she announced. "Please, make yourselves at home and try to get a good night's rest." She then shrugged her shoulders. "Although that's easy for me to say," she acknowledged.

"No Joining until these skirt-wearing nancies have shown me what they can do!" Oghren challenged. "How about a little pummelling session in the yard?" he said to the Templars.

"You're on, dwarf!" Ser Willoughby answered brightly, and he and his fellow Templars followed Oghren outside.

Gabby nodded gratefully to Oghren, pleased that the recruits' minds would be occupied for a while. "Training weapons only!" she called after them.

"Ugh, you're no fun anymore," Oghren grumbled as he left the hall.

As soon as they had left, Clemence, one of the apostates introduced to Gabby by the Mages Collective, spoke up. "Gabby," she said quietly, "we've been talking, and we're a little concerned about the Joining tomorrow."

"Concerned? Why?" Gabby asked, hoping – somewhat optimistically – that there would not be any animosity between the mages and Templars.

"I assume that you and Anders will be conducting it in Nathaniel's absence?" Clemence asked, to which Gabby nodded. "Well," she continued, "what if one of them changes their mind about the Joining? Three Templars against two mages?"

"Oghren will be there, too," Gabby reminded her.

"Actually, Gabs, she does have a point," Anders interjected. "I know you say they're decent men and all that, but you never know. We wouldn't stand a chance if one of them decided to turn on us."

"I really can't see it coming to that," Gabby replied, and then, seeing the mages' doubtful expressions, closed her eyes and sighed. "Alright," she conceded. "I'll take extra precautions, if it makes you feel better."

"Good," said Gillespie, an elven mage hailing from The Dales. "We'd better let you get on with your exciting paperwork, then. We'll all have supper together later, yes?"

"You betcha," replied Anders, slapping the elf's back, and then turned to Gabby. "I'll go get us some tea," he said.

"Alright," Gabby answered. "Carry on into the office. I'm going to find Shale."

Gabby did not have to look far; Shale was in the yard, seemingly preoccupied with something on the ground in front of her. As Gabby approached, Shale stomped her foot several times, grunting in frustration.

"What are you doing?" Gabby asked bemusedly.

"Wretched creatures!" Shale spat as she stomped her foot once again.

Gabby looked down and laughed. "You found an ant's nest?" she asked.

"Why will they not die?" Shale asked in vexation. "It would think that after all the effort I am going to, they would have to common decency to expire!"

"I'm glad to see you've found a purpose at last," Gabby replied with a smile.

"Yes," Shale mumbled, turning toward Gabby and lowering her voice. "I would appreciate if it did not mention to the others my woeful inability to _crush _these hateful beings!" she growled with one final unsuccessful stomp.

"Deal," Gabby agreed, "but I need your help in return."

"Oh?" Shale asked. "What would it ask of me?"

"Well, tomorrow, the Templars take their Joining," Gabby explained as she led Shale away from the others.

"I see," Shale realised. "It is concerned that the mage-killers may take exception to…whatever it does during the Joining."

"Precisely," Gabby answered quietly. "I was just wondering if you'd stand outside the room, in case something goes wrong."

"Ah," Shale said with a mischievous grin. "It requires me to squish them, does it not?"

"Not…squish, no," Gabby said with a grimace. "Just knock them out, and Anders or I will take care of the rest."

"Knock them out?" Shale replied disdainfully. "Oh, how _frightfully_ banal."

"Well, you never know, Shale," Gabby said encouragingly, "Anders or I may be squished in the process, or run through, at least."

"I see its point!" Shale replied enthusiastically. "A mage killing _would _spice things up somewhat. It always knows _just_ what to say to perk me up! I accept!"

"Thanks, Shale," Gabby chuckled, "…I think. Good luck with the ants," she said as she turned and headed inside, laughing as the ground shook from Shale's resumed stomping.

She joined Anders in the office, and talked him through the paperwork. To her surprise, he picked it up quite quickly – she had expected him to be bored rigid within a few minutes. The other mages joined them, as promised, a little later, and they ate a quick supper in the office. The Templars retired early, presumably deep in thought as to what the Joining would entail. Gabby sought out Conn and informed him that he would begin his service in the Silver Order the following morning, under the tutelage of Lieutenant Blissett, a highly capable archer.

She and Anders ploughed on with their paperwork until well after dark, and made good progress. When Gabby yawned four times in quick succession, Anders decided to call a halt.

"It must be well past midnight, Gabs," he said. "You need to go to bed. We can finish this in the morning."

"No," she argued, stifling another yawn. "We have the Joining to do in the morning, and we'll have to make preparations in case…we lose anyone," she said quietly. "Then I have to go to Amaranthine, and…"

"_I'll_ go to Amaranthine," Anders interrupted, "and you can finish this off while I'm there. The other Wardens can take care of any consequences from the Joining. It's not just you and I here, you know."

"Anders," Gabby insisted, "I won't be able to sleep until I know this is done."

"You have to start looking after yourself," Anders said firmly. "There's not only you to consider anymore," he reminded her, with a glance at her belly.

"Alright," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Just let me finish this pile, then."

"But that'll take ages!" Anders protested.

"It will if you keep nagging me!" she said good-naturedly.

Anders stood and walked over to Gabby. "Let me help you out, then," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. "An Anders rejuvenation special."

"Oh, Anders, you're a treasure," she said gratefully, as she felt a warm sensation flood through her. She suddenly glanced up sharply at Anders. "What are you…?" she began, then her head fell back and she started to snore.

"Say hello to Cullen for me," he whispered, taking his seat and picking up his quill.

~x~X~x~

"Anders…!" Gabby exclaimed, and then sighed as a white pedestal appeared before her. In truth, she had been hesitant about entering the Fade again so soon, but knew she could not put it off for long. Although she longed to see Cullen again, the realisation that she could not tell him how she felt about him had opened a grievous wound within her that threatened never to heal. He barely remembered her, and Gabby knew that she would have to settle for his friendship for the moment, although that thought did nothing to lessen her pain.

Then there would be Cullen's inevitable questions. _How do we know each other? How can you be here? How did I die? _Would Gabby tell him the truth, and risk stirring up old memories which were better left buried? Or would she lie to him?

Finding neither alternative acceptable, Gabby reached toward the pedestal and closed her eyes, praying for a third option to present itself.

She barely had time to look up as she was assailed by three small dogs, which twirled and pranced excitedly at her feet.

"Hello!" she greeted them happily, reaching down to pet them.

"I think they like you," an amused voice spoke from behind her.

She turned to face Cullen, and met him with a broad smile. "Do these belong to you?" she asked.

"I don't know who they belong to," he laughed as the dogs started fighting over which of them was receiving the most attention. "They seem to know me, though," he added as he separated the dogs, and distracted them by throwing an apple into the distance. The dogs took off at speed, leaving Gabby and Cullen alone.

"I'm glad you've returned," he said as they took a walk through the barley field. The sun beat down upon them, and Gabby shielded her eyes; she had a feeling the sun always shone here.

"I promised I would," she replied as she took in her surroundings once again. "This is a wonderful place," she said in admiration, "but you must feel quite lonely," she observed.

"No, I don't feel lonely at all," he began. "It's…it's difficult to explain. Time doesn't pass here in the same way it does in your realm," he explained. "Perhaps when you have been here a few more times, you will understand."

Gabby stopped walking for a moment. "Then you know I'm not from this place?" she asked. "How?"

Cullen frowned and thought for a moment. "I don't know how," he said with a shrug. "I seem to know certain things about this place, and yet there are many things I do not know," he said uncertainly. "You…you are from the physical realm, are you not?" he asked her.

"Yes," she answered quietly. She knew his questions would come, but did not expect them so soon.

"From what I understand," Cullen said, "I was once of the physical realm, but am no longer." Gabby nodded and looked into the distance; Cullen watched her reaction carefully. "Does it…cause you pain to speak of this?" he asked.

"Oh, no," she answered brightly, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt. "You must have countless questions," she went on, "and I will do my best to answer them for you, although I do not know everything."

Cullen grinned a little. "That is very kind of you," he replied. "There is one thing of which I am most curious," he said, frowning. "How is it that you are able to visit me here, if you are not of this realm?" he asked, adding quickly, "although I am not unhappy to see you, you understand."

Gabby returned his smile, searching for a way to tell him the truth without revealing too much. "Well, I have an affinity with this place that others do not," she said carefully.

"Oh?" Cullen replied curiously, "and are there others like you?"

"There are many others like me," she answered.

"So…you are able to exist in two places at once?" he asked, fascinated.

"In a way, yes," she replied, "but what you see before you is not my physical body. I am actually asleep at the moment."

Cullen looked at her in wonder. "So, this," he said, looking around, "is all a dream to you?"

"Yes, you could say that," she answered.

"I wonder…if we are solid to each other?" he asked, holding his hand out to her. Gabby knew the answer, but played along, desperate to feel his touch.

"It would appear so," she said softly as she clasped his hand, delighting in its warmth, and then gently releasing it.

"That is…comforting," he replied with a nod. "So, if you are asleep, it must be night time in your realm?" he asked, to which she nodded. Cullen smiled softly and turned to her. "Close your eyes for a moment," he said.

Gabby's stomach knotted tightly as she complied with his request, and closed her eyes, not knowing what to expect.

"Open them," he instructed.

Gabby gasped as she opened her eyes, and turned in a circle to take in the wondrous sight. Night had fallen over the barley field; an immense and brilliant star field blanketed the skies above and around them.

"Is that more appropriate?" he asked, smiling at the look of delight on her face.

Gabby swallowed hard and nodded. "How do you do that?" she asked in awe.

Cullen shrugged. "Well, as I said, there are many things I do not have the answers to," he replied. "I can just think of something, and it happens," he explained. "I have no more idea of how it works than you do."

"It's wonderful," she said, laughing softly. "Thank you."

Gabby was still entranced as they neared the cottage and sat together on a huge log. "The stars are different here," she observed. "I don't know their names."

"Neither do I," he replied, looking up at the night sky. "Why don't we name some of them?" he suggested.

Gabby turned to him and smiled. "Yes, I'd like that," she replied.

~x~X~x~

"Don't they teach you to pitch tents at the Chantry?" Nathaniel scoffed at the Templars' slow and bungled attempts to set up camp; the Wardens and Varel had pitched their own tents long before.

"Shall we help them?" Varel asked Nathaniel.

"Might as well," the Senior Warden replied, rising to his feet. "There's nothing else to do."

"Where are you going?" another Templar asked, waving his sword at Nathaniel.

"To help set your tents up," he replied. "I promise not to _murder_ any of them, alright?"

"There is no need to be facetious," the Templar barked. "Just…stay where we can see you," he warned.

Nathaniel snorted and rolled his eyes as he and Varel walked over to the other Knights, and made short work of the task at hand.

Nathaniel suddenly froze and held his hand in the air, a finger against his lips. The Templars glanced at one another as Nathaniel stared intently into the woods. "Lend me your bow, Varel," he whispered. Varel reached over for 'his' bow, which was, in fact, Nathaniel's.

"The prisoner is not allowed…" Ser Ambrose began.

"Quiet!" Nathaniel rasped, receiving the bow and an arrow from Varel, nocking it and taking careful aim into the darkness. He let the arrow fly and then, retrieving a concealed dagger from his boot, broke into a run as a cry was heard from the woods.

"After him!" Ser Ambrose cried; three of the Templars took off in close pursuit. Several minutes passed by; Ser Ambrose started to pace anxiously, while Varel and the mages looked on, unconcerned. A short time after, laughter could be heard coming from the woods, and eventually Nathaniel and the Templars emerged, all four of them carrying a stag atop their shoulders.

"This will feed us for a week!" one of the Templars exclaimed.

"I haven't had venison for ages," another remarked hungrily.

The four men dumped their prize on the ground near to the fire and rolled their shoulders. Nathaniel approached Ser Ambrose and handed over his dagger. "I assume you know how to butcher an animal?" he asked the Knight-Lieutenant.

"No," Ambrose replied.

"Then will you allow me to do it?" Nathaniel asked. "You can have the dagger afterwards," he promised.

Ambrose nodded once, and gestured for his Knights to watch Howe. "You may as well let him keep the knife, you know," Padraig called over. "If he wanted to kill any of you, he would have done so by now – with his _bare hands_," he warned, emphasising the last two words.

"That's not really helping his case, Padraig," Chauncey scolded.

Some of the Templars glanced nervously at one another. "He could easily have escaped, as well," Varel added. "Why don't you let your men relax, Knight-Lieutenant?" he asked. "Warden Howe has volunteered to come with you. He's not going anywhere."

"Where is he!" one of Templars cried; they had all momentarily turned towards Varel, and Nathaniel was nowhere to be seen when they turned back. Padraig and Chauncey smirked as the Templars scattered in panic.

"Spread out!" Ser Ambrose commanded, drawing his sword. "He cannot have gone far!"

"Actually, I haven't gone anywhere," Nathaniel said from behind Ambrose, who let out a startled yelp and almost dropped his sword. "I'm just proving Varel's point. I could escape at any time, but I choose not to."

"We'll see about that!" Ambrose spluttered, feeling foolish. "Men!" he barked, "surround him and don't take your eyes off him!"

Nathaniel sighed, sat down next to the stag and set to work with his dagger; Ambrose's underlings stood in a loose circle around him, watching him intently. Nathaniel looked up at Varel and winked at him; then, taking a deep breath, he let forth a shrill, high-pitched cry. The Templars stepped back in alarm.

"Now what are you up to?" Ser Ambrose exclaimed, casting the sniggering Chauncey and Padraig a filthy look.

For a few moments, nothing happened, and the Templars, thinking Nathaniel was having a jest, began to relax. A low snarl from within the woods shattered their complacency, and they drew their swords, their eyes darting between Nathaniel and the trees.

The Templars gasped as a pair of glowing red eyes appeared in the darkness and slowly grew larger as they neared; a huge black beast emerged into the camp, canine in appearance, but much larger than any Mabari the travellers had set eyes on before. Its fur stood in rows of stiff spikes atop its back, and it slobbered as it bared its huge fangs; its deadly gaze fixed firmly on the Templars.

"W-what _is _that?" one of them cried as he backed away.

"Looks like a Blight Wolf to me," Padraig said casually.

"Really," Nathaniel murmured nonchalantly, briefly looking up. "Fancy that."

"Blight Wolf?" Ser Ambrose cried, panic apparent in his voice. "Then one of you Wardens must deal with it! I don't want to be tainted!"

"Must we?" Nathaniel asked.

"Please," Ser Ambrose pleaded, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Chauncey, Padraig, deal with the wolf," Nathaniel commanded shiftlessly. "I'm indisposed."

"Sorry, boss, we're too comfortable here," Chauncey replied cheekily, catching on.

Nathaniel looked up at the Templars and shrugged. "Just go!" one of them shouted.

Nathaniel rose to his feet and began speaking softly to the creature; it immediately ceased snarling and retracted its fangs. Nathaniel took a chunk of venison and approached the beast, stroking its head as it took the proffered meat from his hand. He then whispered something into the wolf's ear, and it turned and headed back into the woods with its prize in its jaws.

"How did you do that?" one of the Templars asked in astonishment.

"You summoned it, didn't you?" another asked, clearly impressed. "I've heard of people like you."

"I can call many creatures," Nathaniel replied with a shrug. "Giant spiders are particularly impressive," he said with a pointed look at Ambrose. "There are hundreds of them in the woods around us." The Templars glanced up at the trees nervously. "Would you like me to call one?" Nathaniel offered.

"No," replied Ambrose, holding his hands up. "That is alright."

"Look, I'm sorry to have frightened you," Nathaniel said magnanimously, "but I wanted to demonstrate how easily I could escape, should I so choose. I don't _want _to escape," he said firmly. "I want to know who killed Cullen as much as you do. You really are wasting your time keeping watch over me, and you and your men may as well have a rest."

Reluctantly realising Nathaniel was right, Ambrose instructed his men to stand down; they sat on the ground near to the fire, and, on Varel's suggestion, began whittling tree branches to use as skewers for the meat. Ambrose stood and watched, feeling quite useless.

"Come and warm yourself, Ambrose," said Nathaniel. "It must be cold over there."

Ser Ambrose sighed and walked over to the group; Varel cleared a space for him. Ambrose hesitated for a moment, and then sat down on the ground, removing his gauntlets and warming his hands by the fire.

Varel passed him a small tree branch. "You'll have to make your own skewer," he said with a grin.

Ser Ambrose took the branch, removed a small penknife from his pocket and began whittling.

Nathaniel, who had finished butchering the carcass, offered Ambrose his dagger. "Here," he said. "This'll make it quicker."

Ser Ambrose nodded once as he took the knife. "Thank you," he replied.

~x~X~x~

Gabby awoke to find Anders slumped over the desk, snoring and dribbling onto his sleeve. Only a dozen or so documents remained unsigned. "Oh, Anders…" Gabby whispered, feeling a sudden rush of pride and affection for him. She grinned at him for a moment, and pushed a strand of hair away from his face; he groaned softly and mumbled something incomprehensible.

Gabby smiled warmly, rose to her feet, and quietly opened the office door. It was still early, and light had only just begun to filter in through the windows of the main hall. She shivered and refreshed the guttering fire pit with a Flame Blast, and warmed herself next to it for several minutes before heading for the dining hall. There she found Oghren and Shale, and spoke with them concerning the forthcoming Joining. Oghren promised to rouse the three Warden recruits after he had eaten.

The Silver Order's night shift had just ended, and a few Knights began to filter into the dining hall; Gabby greeted them as she entered the kitchens, and prepared breakfast for her and Anders. She placed a pot of tea, two huge bowls of porridge – Anders' with buttermilk and sugar – and several rounds of toast and strawberry jam, onto a tray. One of the Keep's Knights gallantly took it from her and carried it to the office, setting it down next to the slumbering Anders. She thanked him and closed the door.

Gabby placed Anders' bowl of porridge next to him, and watched in amusement as his nose twitched. He slowly began to stir, and looked up at her through bleary, puffy eyes.

"Not a pretty sight," she chuckled as he reluctantly raised his head.

"Ooh! Brekkers! Well, done, Gabs," he chirped as he realised that food had been brought to him. "Hang on…" he said with a frown. "Does that mean it's morning? But I've only just gone to sleep!" he whined.

"How late did you stay up, Anders?" she asked.

"Oh, Maker knows," he mumbled as he shovelled porridge into his mouth. "Feels like a few seconds ago."

"Look how much you got done, Anders!" she said delightedly.

"Well, there were these few left," he said, passing her a small bundle of documents. "They looked quite important, so I thought I'd leave them for you. I didn't want to overstep my authority."

"But you _have _authority, now," she reminded him. "You're a signatory."

"Hey, I am, aren't I?" he replied, puffing his chest out. "Does that mean I can order Nate and Varel about when they return?"

"By all means, try," Gabby laughed in reply. "Just be prepared for some colourful responses."

"Yes, you could be right," he replied. "I wonder how they're getting on?"

"We have the Joining this morning," she said, changing the subject; she was dreadfully worried for Nathaniel, and was doing her best not to think about him. "Are you alright to take Nate's place, Anders?" she asked.

"Of course," he answered.

"Do me a favour?" she asked. "No snide comments to the Templars. Just remember how you felt at your own Joining."

"Alright," he agreed. "But they're fair game afterwards."

Gabby rolled her eyes and the two of them finished breakfast, and then went down to one of the basement rooms to make preparations for the Templars' Joining.

~x~X~x~

Oghren gathered the recruits and led them down to the basement, after having advised them to abstain from breakfast. Shale followed close behind.

The Templars frowned as they entered the small room, furnished only with a wooden table, atop which sat a silverite chalice. The recruits had discussed the Joining amongst themselves, and were all expecting a tournament, or a test of skill of some kind. Anders and Gabby were already waiting for them; Oghren entered and nodded to Shale as he closed the door.

Gabby immediately launched into a brief history of the Grey Wardens, the five Blights, and of how the Order was banished from Ferelden in 7:10 Storm, and was only allowed back into Ferelden 22 years earlier, in 9:10 Dragon, thanks to King Maric Theirin. Gabby always went through this with new recruits; it seemed to put them at ease, and made them feel as though they were privy to privileged information concerning the Grey Wardens, although it was readily available to anyone. The Templars, as with most of the recruits, appeared visibly bolstered at the mention of the beloved King Maric.

"Now, we come to the Joining," Gabby said solemnly as she picked up the chalice and turned toward the recruits. "Anders, would you begin?" she asked.

Anders cleared his throat and clasped his hands together. "Join us brothers," he said quietly. "Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and, that one day, we shall join you."

Remembering Duncan's words at her own Joining, Gabby began.

"Luke Richardson," she said, offering him the chalice. "You are required to submit yourself to the taint of the darkspawn by drinking of their blood, as have all Grey Wardens to have gone before you."

"This-this is darkspawn blood?" he asked quietly, with a glance at his fellow recruits, who looked just as bewildered and disconcerted.

"There is darkspawn blood in it, yes," Gabby confirmed.

He reached toward the chalice and stared down at the black, viscous liquid within. "Do I drink all of this?" he asked.

Gabby shook her head. "Just a mouthful will do," she replied, as he took the chalice from her. "From this moment forth, Luke Richardson, you are a Grey Warden," she said with practised confidence, although her stomach churned and roiled as she spoke.

Ser Richardson took a sip and gulped hard, wincing at the taste. Gabby took the chalice from him and stepped back. Luke looked confused for a moment, and then his face contorted in agony as his hands clutched at his throat, a dreadful retching sound emanating from it. Anders and Gabby's mouths set in a grim line as they recognised the familiar death throes they had seen many times before.

As Oghren caught Richardson and lowered him to the floor, Bailey and Willoughby stepped back in horror. "Is he…" Ser Bailey began.

"I'm sorry," Gabby said softly.

The two remaining Templars immediately knelt down and clasped their hands together. "Draw your last breath, my friend," said Ser Bailey, facing his fallen brother. "Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, and be forgiven."

"Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls," Ser Willoughby continued. "From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Go to Her, child, and She shall embrace you. In Her arms lies eternity."

Gabby and Anders glanced at one another, both moved by the Templars' prayers. The recruits rose to their feet and bowed to Ser Richardson. Ser Bailey then stepped forward.

"I am ready," he said steadfastly. "I place my life in the Maker's hands, and accept the path He has chosen for me."

Gabby handed him the chalice. "From this moment forth, Martin Bailey, you are a Grey Warden," she said. He drank from the chalice and handed it back to her; a look of confusion immediately crossed his face and he closed his eyes, clutching at his forehead. He gasped and his head snapped up, looking at, but not seeing, Gabby and Anders. His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed into Oghren's waiting arms.

Anders crouched down and examined him. "He'll be alright," he said to Ser Willoughby, who exhaled loudly; as did Gabby.

She took up the chalice for the last time, and handed it to Ser Willoughby. "From this moment forth, Meredith Willoughby, you are a Grey Warden," she said quietly.

Ser Willoughby took a deep breath, drank from the chalice, and handed it back to Gabby. His brow furrowed and he sneezed, and then frantically pawed at his face. He looked around the room in terror and flinched as though struck by something; he then closed his eyes and crumpled to the floor, assisted down once again by Oghren. Anders knelt down and examined him. "He's alive," he confirmed.

Oghren and Anders took Ser Richardson's body to a small anteroom to await cremation, while a pyre was built. Gabby opened the door to speak to Shale.

"Hmm," Shale said as she peered into the room and noted the two recumbent Templars. "No squishing required today, then?"

"No, Shale," Gabby replied, shaking her head. "Thank you, anyway."

Shale nodded and glanced at Gabby. "Does it feel alright?" she asked in as disinterested a voice as she could muster.

Gabby smiled thinly. "I suppose so," she answered. "It could have been worse."

"Good," Shale replied. "It _does_ understand, the only reason I ask this, is that if it were to fall ill, this place would be left in the hands of the male squishy creatures," she explained, "and _that_ I simply could _not_ abide."

"I understand completely, Shale," Gabby responded, tapping the side of her nose.

"How marvellous for it," Shale replied, and walked away from the entrance, leaving Gabby with her two new Wardens.


	4. A Bad Penny

_My thanks to Jen for her speedy beta, and also to Shakespira, CCBug, tgail73, Suliven and Isabella Monroe for their inspiring PMs._

_Apologies for the British slang - I can just see Anders using it. Translations available on request ;)  
_

~x~X~x~

"You know," Gabby said to Cullen, "I think I remember you telling me that, as a young boy, your family had three dogs," she recalled, gazing at the furry companions lying at their feet.

"Really?" Cullen asked. "We've known each other for that long, then?"

"Oh, no, we've known each other for…maybe three years," Gabby replied, suddenly cursing herself for mentioning his family.

"What can you tell me of my family, Gabby?" he asked. "I don't remember anything about them."

_Now what do I tell him? _she thought, angry with herself. _That his father died and his mother was forced into prostitution to feed her family? That his brothers and sisters are Maker knows where?_

"I'm sorry, you didn't really say any more than that," she answered, feeling sick for lying to him.

"Oh, alright," he said softly. "So, how did _we _meet?" he asked, not realising the impact his simple question had on her.

Gabby took a deep breath, determined not to lie to him again – she would just have to be frugal with the information she gave him. "Well," she began. "Remember when I told you that I have abilities that others do not?" she asked; he nodded his head. "I have…powers, Cullen," she said carefully.

"What sort of powers?" he asked.

"Well, I have the power to command the elements to some degree, and to inflict harm upon others," she explained. "Don't get me wrong," she added hastily, "I would not use those powers on innocents, though. I have been called upon to fight in several battles, as have many of my kin."

Cullen rested his chin on his hand as the two of them sat together outside the cottage. "Do your kin have the same powers as you?" he asked.

"No, we're all different," she explained. "Some are the same as I, whereas others have the power to heal and protect. Still more are able to alter people's perceptions, create illusions, and even alter themselves. I do not have those abilities."

Cullen looked at her in admiration. "You and your kin must be very highly revered in your realm," he said innocently, and was taken aback by Gabby's laughter. "Is that not so?" he asked.

"We are not revered, but feared," she replied with a shrug, "perhaps with good reason. Some abuse the powers they were given." Her heart began to race as she realised she was heading into dangerous territory. "That is where you came in," she stated.

Cullen swivelled himself round to face her and listened with rapt interest. "Go on, please," he said.

"Well, my kin and I lived together in a special place, where we studied and honed our powers," she explained. "Eventually, we were meant to leave that place, and take up a position in society, hopefully being able to put our powers to good use. As I said, though, a small number of my fellows abused their powers, and sought to use them for their own benefit, and not that of others. A number of specially-trained Knights resided with us," she continued. "They observed us for any signs of impropriety."

"Was I one of those Knights?" he asked, to which Gabby nodded. He thought for a few moments, and then spoke. "How did we deal with…impropriety?" he asked with concern.

"It depended on the individual situation," she said evasively.

"But surely I would not be able to overpower someone with abilities such as yours?" he enquired.

"Actually, you would," she replied. "You were trained to completely nullify our powers, should the need have arisen," she clarified. "You could render someone like me quite helpless," she added with a grin.

"Can you demonstrate?" he requested.

"No," she replied abruptly. "No…what I mean is, it wouldn't be a good idea to use my powers here unnecessarily," she said cautiously.

"Why not?" Cullen asked. Gabby sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm sorry," he said. "Too many questions."

"Oh no, it's not that," she said apologetically. "It's just that some questions are easier to answer than others."

"Well, may I ask you one more?" he asked hesitantly. "For now, that is," he added with a sly glance toward her. She returned his gaze and the two of them laughed.

"Of course," she replied.

"What's that up there?" he asked, pointing toward the sky. "It's always there, day or night. I've tried to make it disappear, but it always remains."

Gabby looked upward; far in the distance, an island floated in the sky. It appeared to be constructed of rock, and thin, broken columns rose from it, resembling crumbling or destroyed buildings.

"That's the Black City," Gabby said quietly. Cullen looked at her curiously, but said nothing, waiting for her to continue. "It was once the Golden City," she related, "created by the Maker, for His mortal children to reside in when they died; but it was corrupted by the Tevinter Magisters, who entered it whilst still alive. In their ignorance and greed, they turned it black. Its gates were forever closed afterwards, and now, no one may enter it."

Cullen nodded. "So, when mortals die, they now come here?" he asked.

Gabby frowned at Cullen for a moment. "Some do…" she began, glancing at him as her frown deepened.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No, no," she replied unconvincingly.

"Gabs?"

Gabby looked up; Anders stood in front of her with a look of amusement on his face. "You fell asleep at your desk," he chuckled. "Oh, I'm sorry," he added contritely. "Were you with…?"

"Yes," Gabby replied. "We were just talking; I simply hate that I have no control over when I leave the Fade."

"I know," Anders agreed, taking a seat. "It's a real pisser, isn't it? And not really helped by annoying people like me waking you up at inopportune moments."

"It's alright," she reassured him. "I shouldn't have let myself nod off, anyway. That wouldn't have happened, had Varel been here."

"My most humble apologies," Anders said with a cheeky grin. "I am derelict in my duty as your second in command."

"I never said anything about you being my second in command," she replied, a small smirk playing on her lips.

"Oh, I get it," Anders said crabbily, folding his arms. "I'm just here to do your dirty work, is that it?"

"That's about it, yes," she answered cheekily. Anders, feigning indignation, rose to his feet.

"Anders, sit down for a minute," she said seriously.

"What's up?" he asked, taking his seat once again.

"Why is Cullen still in the Fade?" she asked. "He shouldn't be there now, should he? It only just occurred to me. I was so happy to see him that I wasn't thinking straight, but something he just said has me concerned."

Anders cocked an eyebrow and leaned forward across the desk. "I must admit, Gabs, that thought had occurred to me," he confessed, "but I didn't want to say anything. I honestly don't know why he's still there, either; he was a devout Andrastian, and should have gone to the Maker by now."

"He _did _sin, though, and according to the Chant of Light, sinners are doomed to wander the Fade," she replied.

"But from what you tell me," Anders intoned, "Cullen committed those acts when he was…well, ill. And he's hardly wandering the Fade, is he? You said he has his own domain."

"But that makes even less sense," Gabby replied, frowning heavily. "A sinner would not have a domain…and only a demon would be able to create their own."

A look of panic flashed across Anders' face. "Gabby…he's not…?" he began.

"No, he's not a demon, Anders," she reassured him. "I would have felt it. It _is _Cullen. At least I think it's him…I don't understand this."

"Well, there are only two possible explanations," Anders surmised. "Either he's being kept in the Fade for a reason, or the Chant of Light is wrong."

"What do _you _think, Anders?" she asked him.

"I'm sure you don't need me to remind you of my opinion of the Chant of _Shite_," he said acidly. "It's a load of old codswallop." Anders stood and headed for the door. "We're about to have morning tea," he informed her. "Do you want it in here, or are you coming out?"

"Are Martin and Meredith alright?" she asked, only having half-heard his question.

"They're having breakfast now," he replied. "They're not very talkative, though," he added. "Understandable, I guess."

"I'll be out in a minute," she said quietly.

"Alright," he answered. As he opened the door, he paused for a moment and glanced at Gabby; she was deep in thought and appeared not to realise he was still there. Anders sighed and closed the door behind him.

~x~X~x~

Knight-Commander Smyth pressed his signet ring into the rapidly cooling wax and checked that the envelope was secure. When he was sure the wax had solidified, he took the two letters he had written and exited his office, glancing around nervously. His unwelcome visitors were nowhere to be seen. "Open the door, please," he instructed the Templars guarding the main door to the Circle Tower.

"Have you some post, ser?" one of them asked. "I'd be happy to take it for you, if you wish."

"No, thank you," Smyth replied. "I could do with some fresh air."

"As you wish, ser," the Templar answered as the huge metal doors were pulled open.

Smyth glanced behind him before exiting the Tower. Making his way over to the jetty, he waited anxiously for Kester to return; he had taken his lunch at the Spoiled Princess.

"Knight-Commander, ser," Kester greeted Smyth as he disembarked. "Have you some post there?" he enquired.

"Yes," Smyth replied. "I'm sorry to make you go back across so soon, Kester," he began.

"That's quite alright, ser," Kester said, holding his hands up.

Smyth passed the letters to Kester. "These are _urgent_, Kester," he emphasised. "One is to go to Denerim, and the other to a farmhold along the Hafter River, on the way to Denerim. I cannot stress sufficiently the haste with which they must be delivered."

"I'll go right now, ser," Kester replied, "and I'll make sure the courier knows how important they are."

"Thank you, Kester," Smyth said shakily as he pressed two sovereigns into his hand. "Give these to the courier for his trouble."

"_Two _sovereigns?" Kester asked in surprise. "But the fee is only one sovereign for delivery to Denerim."

"I hope that the extra will expedite his journey," Smyth explained.

"Yes, ser," Kester answered, pausing for a moment. "Are you…quite alright, ser?" he ventured, noticing Smyth's nervous demeanour.

"Yes, thank you," Smyth replied quickly. "Don't let me keep you."

"Of course not, ser," Kester responded as he clambered aboard his boat and rowed away.

~x~X~x~

Gabby exited her office, made her way to the dining hall and paused at the entrance, folding her arms, at what she saw. At one end of the dining table sat Bailey and Willoughby, quietly picking at their breakfast, and, at the other end, were the four Warden mages, laughing uproariously. "Well, this brings back memories," she said loudly, causing everyone seated at the huge dining table to look up at her. "Mages at one end of the table, Templars at the other. This is not the Circle Tower, you know," she said sternly. She felt sudden irritation at Anders' smirk in response to her words, still troubled over Cullen's unexplained and continued presence in the Fade.

Taking a seat next to Bailey and Willoughby, she called the mages over to join them.

"No, thanks, boss," Anders replied, thinking it a joke. "We're settled over here, now."

"That wasn't a request, Anders," she snapped. "All of you, over here, now." Exchanging glances, the mages hesitantly rose to their feet and ambled over to where Gabby and the Templars sat. "Sit down," she instructed them.

Gabby leaned forward as they took their seats. "Let's get something straight," she said to the mages. "You are no longer apostates – you are Grey Warden mages. And the two of you," she said, addressing Willoughby and Bailey, "are no longer Templars; you are Grey Wardens with Templar abilities. Do you see a theme here?" she asked everyone.

"We're all Grey Wardens, regardless of our history, or backgrounds," Ser Bailey answered, repeating something Gabby had said at their Joining.

"Correct," Gabby replied, with a pointed glance at the mages. "Martin and Meredith are the two newest members of the Order, have just taken their Joining, and have sadly lost their friend in the process. I expect the more senior Wardens to recognise that, and to make them feel more welcome. Oghren has had no problem doing that, and I expect you to follow his example. Am I making myself clear?"

The mages, feeling a little ashamed, nodded and mumbled their apologies. "This mage versus Templar nonsense ends right here, before it truly begins," Gabby continued, as she rose to her feet. "Martin, Meredith, may I speak with you?" she asked, walking away from the table.

The new Wardens followed her over to the far end of the hall, where they could speak in private. "How are you both feeling?" she asked softly.

Martin and Meredith exchanged glances. "A little…overwhelmed," Meredith replied quietly; Martin nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I can understand that," Gabby answered sympathetically. "I'm truly sorry about Luke," she commiserated, to which the Templars inclined their heads in appreciation. "A pyre is being built for him, and he will be sent to the Maker later today, will full Grey Warden honours," she continued. "I will be heading into Amaranthine shortly; would you like me to bring someone from the Chantry back with me, to say a few words for him?"

"Yes, thank you, Gabby," Meredith replied. "That would be appreciated."

"Or perhaps you'd like to accompany me?" she offered. "The trip might clear your heads a little."

The Templars nodded. "Yes, we'd like that," Martin replied graciously.

"Finish your breakfast," Gabby replied. "I have a few things to take care of first. I'll come and find you in a short while."

~x~X~x~

Not long after Gabby and the Templars had departed for Amaranthine, Ahearn, one of the Silver Order guards stationed at the Vigil's gate, squinted as he stared into the distance. "Travellers approaching from the south-east," he informed Myles, his fellow Knight.

"We're not expecting anyone today," Myles replied. "Let's go and see what they want."

Nodding, Ahearn called two other Knights over to guard the gate, while he and Myles took to the road. As they neared the travellers – three fully-helmed men on horseback, wearing old but well-maintained chainmail – Myles called to them. "Kindly state your business at Vigil's Keep, gentlemen," he said politely but firmly.

The three men exchanged glances; one of them rode forward and halted. "We are here to see the Warden-Commander, ser," he replied.

"What is your business, ser?" Ahearn asked. "The Warden-Commander is extremely busy, and does not usually see callers without an appointment." This was not entirely true, but, before his departure, Varel had asked the guards to be extra cautious during his and Nathaniel's absence.

"I mean no disrespect, ser," the mounted man answered, "but that is between us and the Warden-Commander. Kindly take us to her," he requested.

"I am afraid I cannot do that until I know your business, ser," Ahearn replied with a disarming smile.

The mounted man glanced back at one of his companions, who waved him back, rode his own horse forward, and dismounted. Myles approached him, his hand poised over the hilt of his sword in readiness, then gasped and dropped onto one knee as the traveller removed his helm.

"Your Majesty!" Myles exclaimed.

Ahearn did a double-take and then also dropped onto one knee. "Please forgive us, Sire," he said nervously, "we did not recognise…"

"That's alright," Alistair replied cheerfully, gesturing for the men to rise.

"You usually travel with a contingent of bodyguards, Sire, and your armour…" Myles began.

"I'm travelling incognito," Alistair admitted. "This is not an official visit, and if anyone asks, I'm not here."

"Please," Myles said, gesturing for Alistair to mount his horse, "we will take you to private quarters inside the Keep. No one will know of your presence here."

"That's most appreciated," Alistair said as he replaced his helm, clambered atop his steed, and the five men headed toward the Keep.

"I should advise you, Sire, that the Commander is not at the Keep at present," Ahearn informed the King.

"Oh?" Alistair asked. "Where is she?"

"She has taken a trip to Amaranthine, Sire, and will return later today," Ahearn replied.

"Fine, good," Alistair answered. "What about her second in command? Nathaniel? Is he here?" he enquired.

"Erm…no, Sire," Myles mumbled in reply as he glanced at Ahearn.

"Where is he?" Alistair asked, intrigued by his response.

"Er, with all due deference, Sire, it is not my place to say," Myles replied. "I would humbly request that you speak to the Commander about that. Forgive me."

Alistair knew that he could command the men to answer him, but he hadn't quite got the hang of ordering people around yet, and the two Knights seemed like nice sorts, so he refrained. "Very well," he replied. "I shall speak to the Commander concerning her second."

"Thank you, Sire," the two Knights said graciously.

"Varel," Alistair stated. "He's always at the Keep…" he began. "No?" he asked, seeing the expressions on Ahearn and Myles' faces.

"No, Sire," Myles replied.

"Has _he _gone to Amaranthine as well?" Alistair asked, quirking an eyebrow beneath his helm. Myles and Ahearn shook their heads.

"Well, who _is _in charge, then?" he asked curiously.

"Anders Amell, Sire," Ahearn answered.

"The mage?" Alistair asked as they passed through the Vigil's gate, then drew his horse to a halt as he noticed Richardson's pyre being built. "Was there a Joining?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, Sire," Myles answered. "Three Templars, one of whom did not survive."

"Templars?" _Really?"_ Alistair asked in wonder. "You weren't lying when you said the Commander had been busy." He and his bodyguards dismounted their horses, which were immediately led away by a stable hand. "You'd best stop calling me _Sire_," Alistair whispered to Myles and Ahearn. "_Ser _will be fine; remember, I'm not here," he reiterated.

"Of course, ser," Myles replied, leading the three men into the Keep.

"I'll go and find Anders," Ahearn said, heading for the dining hall. "Though I doubt he'll be pleased to see _you_," he mumbled to himself, once out of the King's earshot.


	5. Plans And Complications

_My sincere thanks to all of you reading, favouriting and alerting the story, and in particular those of you who review and PM me. :)_

_A huge thanks to Jen as always for such a speedy and thorough beta. A very happy new year to you all!_

~x~X~x~

King Alistair and his bodyguards were taken to a private room near to the dining hall, and refreshments were brought to them. Myles asked the King if he had need of anything further before he returned to his post at the gate.

"No, thank you, Myles," Alistair said graciously. "You've already done more than enough. Thank you for your assistance, and discretion."

"You are most welcome, your…_ser_," he said, correcting himself. "I will take my leave of you now. I'm sure Anders will be with you before long."

"Thank you," Alistair repeated as Myles departed with a brief nod of his head in lieu of a bow.

Alistair and his bodyguards made themselves comfortable, indulging in the food and drink provided for them. The sounds of people passing by and muffled speech could be heard outside the door for a while, and then it grew quiet. Just as the guests began to relax, a sudden exclamation rudely punctured the silence.

"What's that arsehole doing here?" a disembodied male voice cried in outrage. "I don't care!" it continued. "He can bloody well wait! He can't just turn up whenever he pleases and expect us to drop everything!" Alistair fidgeted in his chair and cleared his throat; his bodyguards stared at the door, stony-faced. "He's _where?" _the voice asked sharply. "Oh, bloody hell! _Now_ you tell me!" The voice grew quieter and mumbled something incomprehensible.

After a few moments, a knock sounded at the door. "Yes?" Alistair answered.

The door opened, and a man wearing a fancy – some may have said gaudy – robe, entered. Alistair recognised him as the mage Gabby had conscripted to save him from execution.

"Anders, isn't it?" Alistair asked.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he replied with a perfunctory bow. "As you are probably aware, Gabby…I mean the Commander, is not here at the moment. Is there anything you need?" he asked unenthusiastically, refusing to meet the King's eye.

"No, we're quite alright, thank you," Alistair replied, "although, I wouldn't mind catching up with Oghren, if he's around."

"Erm…" Anders began, and then cleared his throat. "Oghren is…_resting_ at the present time," he said.

"You mean he's three sheets to the wind?" Alistair asked shrewdly.

"I'm sure I'm not familiar with that particular expression, Sire," Anders mumbled.

"He means _drunk_," one of the King's bodyguards said condescendingly.

"I _know _what it means," Anders snapped, his ire toward the King coming to the surface. "It's called being discreet, you know? Having a little _class,_" he said bitingly.

"Your discretion is appreciated, Anders, but I have known Oghren for a long time, you understand?" Alistair interjected charmingly. "I'm sure someone with your abilities would be able to rouse him," he hinted.

"I'll do my best, Sire," Anders said briskly. "Excuse me," he said with a quick bow before exiting the room.

~x~X~x~

As Gabby and her two new Wardens entered Amaranthine, they were approached by several villagers, merchants and a few guards, all vying for Gabby's attention.

"I wonder what's happened," Ser Bailey remarked with a frown.

"Nothing's happened," Gabby replied. "This is normal; in fact, this is a quiet day." She turned toward the small crowd and spoke from atop her horse. "Forgive me, friends," she said, "but I have some urgent business to take care of in the City. I will make myself available to you afterwards." The people in the small group, satisfied with this, nodded and slowly dispersed. The Wardens took their horses to the stables and headed toward the Chantry.

"Warden-Commander…" Meredith began.

"Gabby," she corrected him.

"Gabby," he started again with a smile. "If you wish, Martin and I can continue to the Chantry while you take care of your urgent business," he offered.

"That is the urgent business," she replied. "I have a personal errand to take care of while here, but that can wait for a while."

Martin and Meredith glanced at each other and smiled. "Gabby," Meredith began, "I think we made the right decision in becoming Wardens, and, well…thank you."

"You may regret those words in the coming days," Gabby replied with a chuckle as they ascended the steps leading to the Chantry, "especially when you discover there's not much for the Wardens to actually do at the moment."

"There wasn't much to do at the Tower, either," Martin responded, "but it's nice to have some freedom, and the people at Vigil's Keep seem very nice."

The three Wardens stopped outside the Chantry doors. "Does that include the mages?" Gabby asked pleasantly.

"Their distrust of us is understandable," Martin replied. "Anders, in particular, has probably seen only one side of the Templars. Perhaps we will change his mind."

Gabby couldn't help smiling at his optimism. "Actually, I think Anders may surprise you," she answered. "He really is the kindest man you could ever wish to meet, and once you make a friend of him, there is nothing he wouldn't do for you." She stared at the Chantry doors for a moment as she remembered his proposal of marriage; then recalled how sharp she'd been with him earlier. She sighed glumly and entered the Chantry, hoping that Anders was having a trouble-free day at the Keep.

~x~X~x~

"Wake up, you bloody pisspot!" Anders yelled, roughly shaking Oghren by the shoulders as he lay slumped on his bed. Oghren grunted and swatted Anders away with his hand.

Anders hissed, placed his hands over Oghren, and attempted a Rejuvenation spell, which had no effect. "Blasted dwarves' resistance to magic!" he muttered to himself, and exited the room, returning several minutes later with a pail of cold water.

"Wake up, you bleeder!" Anders exclaimed as he dumped the water over Oghren's slumbering form.

Oghren awoke abruptly and hauled himself into a sitting position. "Ancestor's tits, mage!" he yelled. "What the sodding hell do you think you're doing?"

"I've tried every other way to wake you," Anders explained as he tossed a towel at the dwarf. "The King's here, and is asking for you."

"The King, huh?" Oghren mumbled as he dried off his hair and beard. "He's still alive, then?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"That's why I want you to hurry up," Anders urged, "so I don't have to talk to the bastard anymore. I just had to greet him, and it was all I could do not to ruin that handsome phizog of his with a nice Flame Blast. Yes, that would have been perfect…" he mused, his eyes misting over at the thought of Alistair's face melting.

Oghren snapped his fingers in front of Anders' face and walked over to a locked cupboard, opening it and retrieving several bottles of lethal-looking booze. "I'll keep him busy," Oghren chuckled to himself. "Can't have the Commander returning to find the King incinerated, huh? Wouldn't go down too well."

"Thanks," Anders said as Oghren departed. "I owe you one."

"You owe me several, boy," Oghren growled. "Now change my sodding bed before you leave."

~x~X~x~

After feasting like kings on Nathaniel's venison the night before, the bloated and lethargic Templars began to break up camp. The three Wardens – who had eaten twice as much as the others – assisted, seemingly unaffected; as did Varel, who had paced himself. A sizeable quantity of meat still remained, some of which Nathaniel stowed in his pack; the rest he salted, wrapped tightly in rags and buried in a deep hole he'd dug.

"For the return journey," he told Ambrose confidently. "It should be nice and gamey by then." The Knight-Lieutenant cast him a doubtful glance, but said nothing.

Nathaniel mounted his horse, and, when the rest of the party were mounted and ready, they set off. Nathaniel watched Ambrose, who rode a little ahead of him. Although at first the Knight-Lieutenant had appeared inflexible and severe, the fact that Nathaniel's bow and dagger were now back in his possession told him that Ambrose wasn't entirely unreasonable.

Nathaniel rode forward a little until his horse cantered alongside Ambrose's. "May I speak with you, Knight-Lieutenant?" he asked.

"What about?" Ambrose asked without taking his eyes off the road.

"I want to know what happened to Cullen," Nathaniel said insistently.

Ambrose glanced at Nathaniel for a moment. "As I have already told you," he said firmly, "that will be made clear when we reach the Circle Tower. It would be inappropriate to speak of such things now."

"Who's going to know?" Nathaniel asked quietly. "What harm can it do?"

"I have my orders, Warden," Ambrose replied impatiently. "You are wasting your time." With that, he rode his horse further ahead; Nathaniel followed, and once again drew alongside Ambrose.

"Look," Nathaniel said in a honeyed whisper. "If I am guilty, then I already know what happened, don't I?" he asked. "What difference will it make to hear it again?"

Nathaniel's words sounded so reasonable, his voice so soft and lilting, that Ambrose found his resolve wavering; he took a deep breath and straightened his posture.

"You're a decent man," Nathaniel continued, his tone amicable and soothing. "I can see that; all of us can. I am certain you wish to see justice done as much as I." Ambrose cleared his throat and glanced at Nathaniel, immediately casting his eyes downwards. "Why do we waste time on rules and regulations," Nathaniel went on, "when we could be putting our heads together, and getting to the bottom of this?"

Ambrose sighed and stared at his horse's mane, considering Nathaniel's words. The Warden's argument seemed so heartfelt and just, and his voice, so soft and compelling; so compelling…

"You're a shrewd and intelligent man," Nathaniel urged. "Come, let us put our differences aside, and, together, we may have an answer for Knight-Commander Smyth by the time we reach the Tower."

After a pause, Ambrose sighed again and turned a little toward Nathaniel. "Very well," he agreed, unable to find a plausible argument against the Warden's persuasive appeal.

Nathaniel suppressed a grin at Varel's soft chuckle from behind him. "How was he killed?" he asked the Knight-Lieutenant.

"With a dagger – _your _dagger to be precise," Ambrose answered.

Nathaniel nodded; this much he had worked out. "Where?" Nathaniel asked.

"He was found in his quarters, after he did not show for his morning meeting with Ser Smyth…" Ambrose began.

"Wait," Nathaniel interrupted, "you mean his quarters on the fourth floor?" Ambrose nodded. "How did I get up there, then, without being seen?" Nathaniel asked pointedly.

"From what I have heard, Warden, you have quite a talent for concealing yourself," Ambrose answered. "In fact, you took a trip up to the fourth floor on your very first night at the Tower, with the sole intention of locating Knight-Commander Cullen's quarters."

"I will not deny that," Nathaniel replied, "but how do you know that? I took steps to ensure I wasn't seen."

"Well, you _were_ seen," Ambrose said sternly. "One of the Templars saw you, but has only recently come forward with that information."

Nathaniel frowned heavily. "Why only recently?" he asked.

"That I cannot answer," Ambrose replied.

"Can't, or won't?" Nathaniel said, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "Wait…something about this isn't right," he reasoned. "I got to know most of the Templars at the Tower while I was there, and they all thought I was a ghost when I was up on the fourth floor. Who saw me?" he demanded.

Ser Ambrose visibly tensed in his saddle, and did not answer.

"Was it one of your Chantry spies?" Nathaniel asked cunningly. Ambrose's head snapped round toward him; a look of alarm on his face. "Well, that answers that," Nathaniel concluded.

"That answers nothing!" Ambrose said indignantly. "Spies?" he asked. "Who told you such a thing?"

"Never mind who," Nathaniel replied firmly. "Just answer the question. Hang on – was it you who saw me? Are you one of them?"

"Certainly not!" Ambrose exclaimed, a flicker of disgust crossing his features.

"Ah, so you do not deny their existence, then?" Nathaniel said smugly.

"It appears, Warden Howe, that we have reached an impasse in this conversation," Ambrose said curtly, spurring his horse ahead.

"You mean I've asked something that has made you uneasy, and you are unwilling to answer," Nathaniel retorted.

"This discussion is over," Ambrose said dismissively, gesturing for two of his Knights to fall in behind him, preventing Nathaniel from catching him up.

"We will speak more of this later, at camp," Nathaniel called out. "You won't be able to run away then." He fell back slightly to ride alongside Varel. "What did you make of that?" he asked the Seneschal.

"I think Ambrose knows more than he's letting on," Varel whispered, "but he doesn't appear to be terribly happy about it, which could work to our advantage."

"I agree," Nathaniel replied. "I think his conscience is pricking at him."

"What's the plan?" Varel asked.

"We're going to appeal to his conscience, Varel," Nathaniel answered. "Ambrose is an ally, even though he doesn't realise it yet. We're going to bring him round to our way of thinking."

The two men nodded at one another, and continued to ride on.

~x~X~x~

After delivering Nathaniel's note to Adela, and speaking to several of Amaranthine's residents, Gabby and her new Wardens started the trip back to the Keep. Revered Sister Beth from the Chantry had joined them, and rode with Gabby. The weather was fair, and the ground firm; in less than an hour their horses bore them home.

Anders paced back and forth at the gate as they arrived. "Thank the Maker you're back, Gabs!" he exclaimed as the party dismounted.

Gabby turned to Martin and Meredith. "Would you kindly take Sister Beth inside, and make her comfortable?" she asked them. "I will be with you shortly, Sister," she said.

"Please, don't rush yourself," Sister Beth replied. "I can see how busy you must be."

"Thank you," Gabby replied with a smile as the Templars escorted her inside.

"Gabs…" Anders began agitatedly, clutching her arm.

"He's here, isn't he?" she guessed.

"How did you know that?" Anders asked.

"A feeling," Gabby answered sourly. "Where is he?"

"He's in one of the rooms off the main hall," Anders replied, "but, that's not the worst of it," he added, his expression anxious.

"What do you mean?" Gabby asked with a frown.

"Gabs…he's pissed out of his head," the mage replied tersely. "Oghren," he said in reply to the question Gabby was about to ask.

"Great," Gabby snapped. "Not only is Alistair here, but a giggling, imbecilic Alistair is here!" she said exasperatedly, recalling Alistair's poor tolerance for alcohol. "Bloody Oghren," she muttered under her breath.

"This is sort of my fault," Anders admitted. "I, um, well, I was pissed off when he just showed up, and Oghren agreed to entertain him. Well, he agreed reluctantly…he didn't really have much choice. Look, Gabs," he explained. "You know what I'm like. I would have ended up saying something to him, and that would have made things worse for when you got home," he said apologetically. "I just thought it best if I stayed away."

"It's not your fault, Anders," Gabby reassured him. "In fact, you've been brilliant since Varel and Nate left. I just wanted you to know that now, in case I turn into a bad-tempered bitch later on, and forget to let you know." She stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on Anders' cheek. "Thank you," she said warmly.

Anders giggled and touched his cheek. "You're quite welcome, dear lady," he replied.

"Let's get this out of the way," Gabby said grimly, as they headed inside the Keep.

~x~X~x~

_I have co-written a story with another author – CCBug. She is a very talented author – those of you who have read Full Circle or Redemption will know this to be true, and I highly recommend them to those of you who haven't read them._

_It's called 'Nobility Has Another Meaning' and is published under CCBug's name. Starting 20 years before the events of Awakening, a young Robert Varel is proud and honoured to become Seneschal to Arl Rendon Howe - until he realises how twisted and paranoid his master is. Varel does everything within his power to protect and aid Howe's victims - the most deeply affected being the Arl's young family, whom Varel comes to care for a great deal. Eventually the Howe family is torn apart by the Arl's madness, and Varel demoted, losing touch with those he swore to protect. A chance reunion with Howe's son, Nathaniel, several years later, gives Varel hope that he can fulfil his promise to Nathaniel's mother - but will the bitter and deeply wounded Nathaniel accept Varel after all this time, or lash out at him? And can Varel get through the shades of Rendon Howe he can still see in Nathaniel, and reach the young boy he used to know and care for? I really hope you'll be able to take the time to have a quick read, and let us know your thoughts. Thank you!_


	6. Tact, Dwarven Style

_Sorry for the delay in updating. I will try to get back into a routine again with this story. Thanks for your patience :-)_

~x~X~x~

Anders and Gabby approached the room where Oghren was entertaining Alistair and his guards, and entered without knocking. They found four grown men sitting on the floor, red-faced and giggling uncontrollably. Gabby cleared her throat noisily.

Oghren looked up and squinted, trying to focus on the two brightly-coloured blurs standing in the doorway.

"Uh-oh," he mumbled, "the boss is here."

"Ooh, I think we're in trouble, fellows!" Alistair snickered, tears running down his face as his body convulsed with laughter. The other three men spluttered and once again collapsed into giggles.

Anders and Gabby, unmoved, shared a glance, and almost in unison, the two mages folded their arms.

"Aren't you supposed to stand when in the presence of a lady?" Anders barked at the drunken men, clearly looking at Alistair as he spoke. Although Anders rarely stood when Gabby entered a room, and only then if he had actually intended to stand anyway, that wasn't the point; this was the _King – _and a Templar to boot – and he should know better. The fact Anders hated him anyway had nothing to do with it, he told himself.

"Yes, yes; the mage is correct," Alistair slurred, bent his knees and tried to push himself up with his hands. After his legs gave out from under him several times, he eventually gave up, got onto all fours, and clambered up a nearby chair, stopping once or twice on the way up for a rest. Finally, Alistair stood, and held his hands to his sides for balance. He turned around, and gulped at Gabby's cold expression. "Come on, you lot," Alistair commanded, and waited as his three companions struggled to their feet, not trusting himself enough to help them; he didn't think the Commander would appreciate one of her chairs being smashed to pieces by two men falling on top of it.

"Leave us, please," Alistair said to his guards.

"C'mon, lads," Oghren offered. "There are some bunks in the room across the way."

Anders and Gabby made way as the dwarf and guards exited.

"Anders, would you mind?" Gabby asked her friend, who continued to cast a withering glance at the King. Anders sighed and leaned down to whisper something in Gabby's ear. "I won't, I promise," she answered.

"I'll be outside," Anders said in a loud voice. "_Right _outside." With one final warning glance at the King, he exited and closed the door.

"You promise not to do what?" Alistair asked with a charming grin.

"Let you sweet-talk me," she answered. "But he needn't worry about that," she said with conviction.

Alistair, still intoxicated, threw his head back and laughed. "You are _so_ adorable when you're miffed," he chuckled, and took a few steps toward her. "I've missed you so much, Gabs," he whispered, taking her hands in his.

Gabby immediately withdrew her hands from his grip, and stepped away, putting some distance between the two of them.

"What?" Alistair asked with hurt in his voice. "What's the matter?"

"In case you'd forgotten, Alistair, you're married," Gabby reminded him, without looking at him.

"I just wanted to give you a hug, that's all," Alistair pouted, his shoulders visibly slumping.

"Come on, Alistair," Gabby said as she turned to face him. "It wouldn't have been a hug at all, and you know it."

"Well, what's so terrible about that?" he asked with a pleading look.

"Did you not hear me before?" she said with annoyance. "You are _married_."

"Married?" he laughed mirthlessly. "If you could call it that. We haven't even…_you know_…yet."

"Alistair, I really don't want to know," she snapped. "Is that what you came here for?" she asked incredulously, "because your wife isn't putting out?"

"No!" he exclaimed, "absolutely not!" He covered his mouth with his hand and paced the room. "If you must know," he said sheepishly, "I'm the one who's not putting out…"

Gabby sighed and closed her eyes for a moment as Alistair slumped dejectedly into a chair. "It's not easy, you know, Gabs," he admitted, "_doing it _on demand. I know I'll be expected to produce an heir within the first year of marriage, and every time I think about it, I-I…just…" He shook his head and looked up at Gabby. "Besides," he said quietly, "she's not you."

"Alistair…" Gabby began, rubbing her forehead.

"I came here to see if you really meant what you said in your letter," he interrupted. "Is there to be nothing more between us? I love you, Gabby, and you love me; I know you do."

"But not enough to marry me, obviously," Gabby replied as evenly as she could.

"Oh, Gabs, please, let's not have this conversation again," Alistair said wearily. "You _know _why. I don't _care _that you're an elf, or a mage. The fact is, I need to produce an heir, and with the two of us being Wardens, the chances of that are virtually zero."

Gabby felt a sudden weakness seize her, and sat down next to Alistair. "Oh, Maker, Alistair…" she mumbled.

Alistair looked at her curiously. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Gabby closed her eyes and shook her head. "Alistair, listen," she began, turning to face him.

"This is going to be bad, isn't it?" he asked warily.

Gabby wrestled for a moment over the best way to break the news to him; should she take a softly-softly approach, or get straight to the point?

"I'm pregnant," she blurted out, unsure for a moment if she had said the words out loud or had merely thought them.

She had anticipated him to react in one of several ways; with laughter was not one of them. "Good one, Gabs!" he chortled, scanning her face for a hint of amusement. Gabby folded her arms, crossed her legs at the ankle, and stared grimly ahead. "Gabs?" he asked, his voice still full of mirth, but his eyes had widened somewhat. The laughter stopped, and he watched her for a few moments, unsure of what to do. "Gabs," he repeated, more hesitantly this time. "Y-you're not joking, are you?"

Gabby's only answer was a brief snort, as she continued to stare ahead.

The feelings of warmth and joviality provided by Oghren's booze fell away from Alistair with alarming speed, leaving only a cold ball of nausea in the pit of his stomach. He unsteadily rose to his feet, and stood staring at his hands as he picked at his fingernails. A wave of dizziness forced him to return to his chair. "Oh…" he moaned, clutching at his stomach.

Gabby sighed and rose, heading for the door and opening it. "Anders?" she called.

"Yes, Gabs?" Anders asked as he appeared from a short distance away.

"The King is going to be sick," she declared, ushering the mage into the room.

Anders groaned and rolled his eyes. "I'm only doing this so we don't have to clean up any vomit," he said irritably, and outstretched a hand toward Alistair, quickly mumbling something under his breath; Alistair was bathed in a faint green light for a moment.

"Thank you, Anders," Alistair said quietly, feeling better.

Gabby led Anders outside for a moment. "Are Sister Beth and the Templars alright?" she asked him.

"Yes," he answered. "They're praying down the hall. Are you alright?" he asked. "Have you told him yet?"

Gabby nodded. "Yes, just now," she replied, "he didn't take it well, as you saw."

"So, what happens now?" Anders asked.

"That's what I'm about to find out," she answered with a shrug. "Will you let me know when the pyre is finished?" she asked. "Richardson's funeral takes precedence over everything else today, even the King."

"I'll go and check now," he assured her, and then cocked his head a little and grinned. "Glad to see you're not a bad-tempered bitch yet," he quipped.

"The day is young, Anders," she replied with a crooked grin, and headed back to the room where Alistair waited.

~x~X~x~

Edmund brought his horse to a halt as he reached the farm. Removing the letter from his satchel, he scanned the address again, checking he was at the right place; he was. He dismounted and tied his horse to a tree, and walked toward the settlement. He was very pleased with himself – he had reached his first destination only two days after leaving Kinloch Hold. Edmund's family prided itself on the courier service they provided along the North Road to Denerim, and rightly boasted that they could deliver a letter or packet from the Circle Tower to Denerim in three or four days, depending on the weather. They did this by riding hard, with little or no sleep, changing horses along the way; and, when Edmund had delivered his letter, he would be replaced by his brother or father, who would complete the journey to Denerim.

Edmund reached the main house and rapped on the door. After a few moments, a tall, dark-haired woman opened the door; three boys of various ages looked on curiously from behind her.

"Good day to you, madam," Edmund said politely. "Is this the Lovell residence?" he asked.

"Yes, ser, it is," she answered. "How may I be of assistance?"

Edmund produced the letter and handed it to her. "This is an urgent delivery from Kinloch Hold, sent two days ago," he advised her.

The lady frowned at the letter. "Urgent?" she asked.

"Yes, madam; the sender was most anxious it reach you without delay," Edmund answered.

"I see," she said quietly. "Oh, please ser, won't you come in and rest for a spell?" she offered. "You must have had a hard journey to get here so quickly."

"Oh, you are most kind, good woman," Edmund answered with a small bow. "That is very gracious of you," he said as he entered the house, "but I must not dally too long. If I may impinge on your generosity further," he added, "have you a trough for my horse?"

"How is your horse's temperament, ser?" she asked.

"Very docile, madam," Edmund answered.

"Stanley," she said to her eldest son, "go and water the gentleman's horse."

"Yes, ma," the young boy answered, and headed for the door.

The lady, who Edmund discovered was named Gwen, warmed up a bowl of pottage for him, served with a chunk of bread and a mug of ale. Edmund tucked in gratefully as Gwen stood by a window and opened the letter.

A sudden exclamation from Gwen caused Edmund to look up at her, and then, not wishing to pry, he returned his gaze to his food, watching her carefully from the corner of his eye. She peered through the window, and opened it, calling to her son. "Stanley, come inside at once!" she demanded. As soon as Stanley had returned indoors, she bolted the door and checked that her sons were all in the house.

After a few minutes, Gwen appeared to compose herself, and returned to the kitchen where Edmund was finishing his meal.

"Ser," she asked him hesitantly. "Where is Vigil's Keep?"

"Why, in Amaranthine, madam," he answered. "Are you to travel there?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied with a sigh. "How long would it take to reach it?" she asked.

"On foot, or by horse?" he enquired.

"On foot, ser," she answered. "We have only a carthorse."

"Madam, I would not recommend that," Edmund said sternly. "The North Road is a favourite spot for bandit attacks," he warned, gesturing toward the crossbow on his back.

"But I have nothing of value to steal," Gwen replied. "Surely they would see that?"

"Lady," Edmund answered gravely, "I fear robbing you would not be their intent," he said with meaning behind his words.

"Oh…I see," Gwen said, her voice wavering. "Then what am I to do?" she asked. "I have to travel there…I have no choice. My brother has warned me that my family is in danger here, but does not go into specifics," she said, her hands shaking as she fingered the letter.

"Your brother?" Edmund asked. "Knight-Commander Smyth is your brother?"

"Yes," Gwen replied. "Do you know him?"

"I do, madam," Edmund answered. "He has always been fair to me, and is a good man, from what I hear." Edmund rose from the table and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Dad will probably have my hide for this…" he mumbled under his breath.

"Lady, I must leave now," he announced, "as I have another missive for delivery to Denerim." Edmund had no doubt of that letter's destination; he had made several previous trips there on behalf of the Templars. Edmund took a few steps toward Gwen. "Make preparations to leave," he instructed her.

"Ser?" she asked in bemusement.

"I shall ride on to the Arundel estate, where my brother is stationed," he explained. "He will continue the journey to Denerim, and there I will send some men and horses for you. They will escort you and your children to Vigil's Keep."

"Oh…!" Gwen exclaimed, and covered her face with her hands. "S-ser, I do not know how to thank you!" She removed her trembling hands and looked up at him with fear in her eyes. "I-I have no way to pay you, ser," she explained, "u-unless…"

"Madam, I am a married man," Edmund proclaimed. "I have no need of thanks. Your kindness and hospitality has been more than enough."

"Oh, thank you, kind ser!" Gwen cried, turning away from Edmund to hide her tears.

"Now, get yourselves ready," he instructed her. "Lock the door tightly once I am gone. I expect the men should reach you before nightfall," he estimated. "May I take your letter with me?" he asked. "They will use it to identify themselves to you."

"O-of course," Gwen answered, handing the letter over to Edmund. "Maker bless you, ser," she said.

"Good luck to you," Edmund replied as he headed for the door. "Don't forget to lock up," he reminded her.

~x~X~x~

Gabby had only just re-joined Alistair when Anders knocked at the door. "Sorry, Gabs," he told her as she opened the door, "but the pyre is ready, and the sister and Templars have finished their prayers."

"All right, thanks, Anders," she said, and turned to Alistair. "We have a funeral to conduct, Alistair," she informed him. "A Templar who died during the Joining. We will continue our discussion later; you are welcome to attend, if you wish."

"Yes, of course," replied the still-dazed Alistair. "I must pay my respects to a fellow Warden," he said as he rose and replaced his helm, then clasping his hands behind his back so that Gabby would not see they were shaking.

As Alistair and Gabby left the room, Anders could be heard loudly rousing Oghren from one of the adjacent rooms. The dwarf and the King's bodyguards spilled out of the room, mumbling and clutching their heads. Upon spotting their King, the two guards stiffened. "Command us, Your Majesty!" one of them said.

"Ssh!" Alistair hissed. "Go and splash some cold water on your faces, then join us in the yard," he instructed them. "We are attending a Grey Warden funeral."

The two guards bowed low, and then looked at one another, confused. "You'll find plenty of water through there," Anders said, pointing toward the kitchens. "Ask the cook first," he warned them.

"Yes, Warden," they answered, and trudged down the hallway.

When everyone was ready, Gabby assembled her Wardens, and as many of the Keep's staff as were able to attend, in the yard. A disguised Alistair and his bodyguards also attended, as did Sister Beth from Amaranthine.

Gabby began by making a short speech about the Wardens and their role in Thedas' history; she and Varel had penned it together for the Orlesian Wardens who were lost at the Keep when she had first arrived, and she had continued to use it, in a modified form, for all subsequent Warden funerals.

She then said a few words for Luke Richardson. It was now that she thought of Nathaniel; he had become good friends with Luke, and she knew he would be deeply saddened to hear of his loss. Sister Beth then took over from Gabby, who blessed Ser Richardson, and asked the Maker to receive His son. Gabby then lit three torches from a brazier, and passed them to Luke's friends: Meredith Willoughby, Martin Bailey, and Conn Ballard, who proceeded to light the faggots of wood, dried grass, pine needles and twigs which made up the base of the pyre.

The former Templars stood back and watched as the flames rose higher and higher, and dropped onto one knee as Luke's worldly body was consumed. Sister Beth also knelt down to pray, as did Alistair; Gabby followed suit, and was joined by Anders, who gestured for the rest of those in attendance to follow.

When the ceremony was complete, Gabby sincerely thanked Sister Beth for the service.

"Oh, it was my pleasure, Warden-Commander," the sister answered, and called Anders over. "It is my understanding that the two of you wish to wed?" she asked. Gabby froze as she noticed Alistair's head snap in their direction. "I have been given dispensation by the Revered Mother to conduct the ceremony for you," she went on. "I could even conduct it for you now, if you wish?" she offered.

"Erm…" Gabby began, glancing at Anders in panic, as Alistair and Oghren walked over to them. "Thank you for the offer, but we are missing a few of our people at the moment," she explained, "whom we would like to attend."

"Oh, of course!" Sister Beth replied brightly. "Please let me know when you will be ready," she said kindly.

"Married?" Oghren said loudly, glancing up at the mages. "Since when? I didn't even know the two of you were humping..." All of a sudden, the dwarf's eyes lit up and he laughed uproariously. "Oh, I get it!" he exclaimed. "_Eating for two_, is she?" he speculated with mortifying accuracy.

A pin could have been heard dropping in the courtyard as Gabby's, Anders' and Sister Beth's mouths fell open. Although Alistair wore his helm, Gabby could not look at him, only imagining the expression on his face.

"I have to admit," Oghren continued, completely oblivious, "I didn't think a streak of piss like you could manage it," he said to Anders. "Guess I was wrong, huh?" he asked, clapping the mage on the arm. "Well done, kid!"

"Er…Sister Beth," Gabby said hastily, leading the stricken-looking sister away from the group, "if, um, you wish, I can have someone escort you back to Amaranthine," she offered, feeling her cheeks burning. "Or, you may stay for refreshments," she suggested.

"Oh, that's quite all right," the sister replied with remarkable dignity, "but I really must be heading back. Thank you, all the same."

Gabby gulped and nodded her head. "I'll have one of the Silver Order take you back," she said, venturing a glance behind her, where Oghren stood chuckling to himself, Anders shook his head with his hands over his face, and Alistair looked very clearly in her direction, arms folded, and shoulders hunched.


	7. The Four Men In My Life

_Thank you so much to those of you who continue to read, review, alert and favourite._

_I'd also like to say a special 'thank-you' to Shakespira, for re-kindling my enthusiasm for this story, and, without whom, it probably wouldn't have gone beyond chapter 2. :-)_

~x~X~x~

Alistair pulled off his helm and threw it onto a chair, revealing a sweat-soaked, beetroot-coloured face. He ran one hand through his hair; the other was clamped to his side, its fingers clenching and flexing. The only other time Gabby had seen him so furious was following the blood ritual that claimed Isolde Guerrin's life, and Gabby had a feeling that Alistair was going to be just as unreasonable now as he had been then.

He barely gave her a chance to close the door to the private room before he started. "So, now it all becomes clear," Alistair said in his best approximation of a sneer, although he never had been very good at sneering, and Gabby clearly heard the hurt and confusion in his voice.

"Alistair," she began, "Oghren has got it wrong. If you'll just let me…"

"Wrong, is he?" Alistair interrupted. "So he was wrong about you and Anders getting married?"

"No, he wasn't wrong about that," Gabby mumbled.

"And just when were you planning to tell me?" he snapped.

"I've only known myself for a few days!" she said in exasperation. "Do you think I should have sprouted wings and flown to Denerim, Alistair? Maybe some mages can do that, but I guess I'm just not that good!"

Alistair hesitated for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as his hands trembled at his sides. "So…the child…is it mine, or Anders'?" he asked as calmly as he could, though his voice carried an undertone of fear and anger.

"It's yours, Alistair," she answered firmly.

"How can you be so sure of that?" he asked, the fear and anger spilling out into his words. "I just find it very hard to believe that two Grey Wardens could conceive a child! Alright, I know that Anders is a Grey Warden, too, but his taint is not as strong as mine, and there may at least be a chance, but, you and I? That seems very unlikely, Gabby!"

Gabby folded her arms and fixed Alistair with a hard look. "Have you finished, yet?" she asked.

"I haven't even started, yet!" he barked petulantly, placing his hands on his hips. "Do you have any idea of how upset I was earlier when you told me I was going to become a father?" he asked. "Do you have any idea of what has been going through my mind? And now I discover you're betrothed to someone who you've been carrying on with for Maker knows how long! And you try to convince me that _I'm_ the child's father?"

"You _are _the father, Alistair," she said in a dangerously calm voice.

"How can you be so certain of that?" he asked accusingly.

"Because I've never had sex with Anders, you idiot!" she bit out. "Is _that _certain enough for you?"

"And another thing!" he barked, and then stopped dead, his mouth hanging open. "W-what…?" he stammered.

"You heard me," she said, unable to hide her irritation. "Alistair, how could you even think I would try and foist another man's child onto you?" she asked, this time her own hurt apparent in her voice.

"I-I'm…" he mumbled, and sighed heavily. "Gabby," he asked warily, "has there been anyone else…?"

"Don't even finish that sentence, Alistair!" she snapped.

"I'm sorry!" he cried earnestly. "I-I have to know…I just don't understand how the two of us could…"

"Well, while we're on the subject, perhaps _you_ could explain it to _me_," she demanded.

"Explain? Explain what?" he asked, his eyes wide with confusion.

"Just how two Grey Wardens can conceive a child," she elaborated.

"Gabby, I-I don't…" Alistair mumbled.

"After the Landsmeet – _that _Landsmeet - you came to me, and, after all of our plans, and all of your promises that we would stay together forever, you told me that we couldn't marry because I could not bear you a child," she said, struggling to keep her anger in check.

"Gabby…" Alistair cut in.

"I was devastated, Alistair," she continued, not letting him speak, "but I took you at your word. You sounded so sure of that, so convinced." She took a few steps closer to him. "Tell me, Alistair," she demanded, "just how were _you _so certain of _that_? What proof exists to substantiate your claim?"

"Well, there's no proof, really," he mumbled, fear once again creeping into his voice.

"What?" Gabby asked flatly.

"It's just a fact," he said weakly.

"It's only a fact if there's proof, Alistair!" she spat. "Just how is it a fact?"

"I, um, I just remember a few Wardens telling me, and Duncan mentioned something…" he said anxiously, grasping the back of his neck.

"So," Gabby said in a stern voice, "you broke my heart because of something a few people _mentioned_."

"I-I…I took their word for it!" Alistair cried out desperately. "I was a junior Warden, and I looked up to them…I believed everything they said. It never occurred to me they could be wrong," he finished miserably, and sat heavily on a chair, placing his head in his hands. "Oh, Maker," he said in a muffled voice. "What have I done?"

Gabby sighed and massaged the back of her neck. She pulled up a chair next to him and sat down, and the two of them shared a gloomy silence for a few minutes.

"Gabby," Alistair said at last. "Is this why you're marrying Anders? Because you're pregnant?"

"Anders proposed to me because he didn't want my child being born out of wedlock," she informed him.

"But why would he do that?" Alistair asked. "What's in it for him?"

"Nothing," Gabby replied. "There's nothing in it for him; that's just the sort of man he is. He's probably the best friend I've ever had."

Alistair rose to his feet and stood with his back to Gabby. "Maker, I'm such a fool," he whispered. "I-I'm so sorry, Gabby…"

"Alistair, there's no point in reprimanding yourself," Gabby said, more harshly than she had intended. "We need to decide what to do. You obviously can't acknowledge this baby as yours, can you?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

He turned around; unshed tears threatened to spill from his eyes. "You-you know I can't, Gabs," he croaked. "I wish I could, truly, I do."

"I need to know now if you intend to have any part in its upbringing," she said calmly.

"Yes! As much as I can!" he answered resolutely, "if you will allow it…"

"I have no intention of stopping you from seeing your child, Alistair," she replied.

"N-no…of course you wouldn't," he answered, wringing his hands. "But…won't everyone assume it's Anders' child?" he asked.

"That's the plan," she stated. "Anders has already agreed to it."

"But…" Alistair began.

"What do you want me to do, Alistair?" she asked. "Do you think it would be better for me to tell everyone that the child is not Anders', but is in fact the illegitimate child of the King?"

"No, of course not," he answered quietly. "I'm sorry, Gabs…this is just hard for me." He paced the room for a few moments, eventually taking a seat next to Gabby. "How long have you known Anders?" he asked.

"Since I was a child," she answered. "He was from the Circle Tower, remember?"

"Yes, of course," he replied.

"I know how difficult it will be for you to see your child raised by another man, Alistair, but wouldn't you rather have a good man raising him than not?" she asked. "You've already seen how protective he is, and there's not a bad bone in his body Alistair, I swear it," she added.

Alistair stared at the floor and nodded his head.

"And you can see your child at any time, Alistair," she promised. "As often as you are able."

"All right," Alistair said after a pause. "Gabby, I have to ask you this: how many people know the truth?"

"You and I, obviously; Anders, Nathaniel Howe and Seneschal Varel," she stated, "all of whom I trust implicitly. The Queen will never hear of this, Alistair; I swear."

"Thank you," he said softly. "She's innocent in all of this, after all."

Gabby rose to her feet, opened the door, and asked one of the Keep's staff to bring some tea. She nodded to Anders - who paced anxiously up and down the dining hall - to signify that things were well. Closing the door, she took a seat next to Alistair.

"Speaking of Varel and Nathaniel," Alistair asked, "where are they? Your guards seemed reluctant to discuss it when I asked."

"Oh, Alistair," she groaned. "That's a whole other story."

"Anything I can help with?" he offered.

"I'm not sure you'd want to," she replied doubtfully. "The Chantry is involved."

Alistair sat back and glanced at Gabby with narrowed eyes. "Tell me," he insisted.

~x~X~x~

After several unsuccessful attempts to get Ambrose to expand on their previous conversation, Nathaniel finally seized his chance as their group found a spot in which to set up camp.

"Alright, Ambrose," Nathaniel said as he backed the Knight-Lieutenant against a tent. "You can't tell me you're busy, or you're keeping your eyes on the road, or whatever other flimsy excuses you care to some up with," he said tersely, his patience finally reaching its end. "You are doing nothing except standing idle. You _will _talk to me," he insisted.

"And are you going to use your silver-tongued powers of persuasion on me again?" Ambrose asked, folding his arms. "I've heard about people like you, and I'm wise to you now. It won't work again."

"There wouldn't have been a need for such subterfuge if you had been open with me from the start," Nathaniel said, not unreasonably. "You know something; of that I am certain."

"I know less than you seem to think," Ambrose began.

"All men are the work of our Maker's hands," Nathaniel interrupted. "From the lowest slaves to the highest Kings. Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker."

"Very clever, Warden Howe," Ambrose remarked.

Nathaniel continued. "Those who bear false witness, and work to deceive others, know this: there is one truth. All things are known to our Maker, and He shall judge their lies," he quoted, taking a step closer to Ambrose. "If you are a true Andrastian, as you Templars claim to be, then may those words lie heavy on your conscience," he finished, and turned away, walking over to where Varel sat.

Varel and Nathaniel talked for a while, and were joined by the mages Padraig and Chauncey. The four of them finished off Nathaniel's venison, leaving the Templars to eat dried rations. "He's coming over," Varel whispered.

"Just answer me this, Warden Howe," Ambrose said from behind him. Nathaniel turned to face him, and waited for the Knight-Lieutenant to speak. "What _were _you doing up on the fourth floor that night?" he asked.

"Looking for Cullen's quarters," he answered honestly. "You already know this, so why are you asking?" he said impatiently, turning back to face Varel.

"_Why _were you looking for Cullen's quarters?" Ambrose demanded.

"Does it matter?" Nathaniel answered with defeat in his voice, casting a sly glance at Varel. "Would you believe me if I told you, and, if you did believe me, would that make any difference?" he asked heavily, with a wink at Varel; the seneschal's expression remained as immutable as stone.

"That depends on your answer," Ambrose replied.

Nathaniel shuffled round to face Ambrose. "If you must know, Commander Surana was concerned for Cullen's wellbeing, having known him from before Uldred's revolt," he stated, noting that Ambrose shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Uldred's name. "We had heard only gossip and rumours, and no solid information was forthcoming, so I took it upon myself to find out first hand. As it happened, I never did find out; Cullen's quarters were well-guarded, and I didn't get inside. It was a waste of time," he said truthfully.

"That sounds unlikely," Ambrose scoffed, although Nathaniel fancied he detected a hint of doubt in his voice. "It was well known throughout the Tower that you disliked Cullen."

Nathaniel rose to his feet and faced Ambrose. "How did I dislike him on my very first night at the Tower?" he retorted. "I hadn't even met him then!"

"You challenged him to a duel," Ambrose stated.

"I challenged him – and won – after he cast a disgraceful slur on my Commander's reputation and virtue," Nathaniel said firmly. "I did what any gentleman worth his salt would have done. Honour was restored, and that was the end of it," he insisted.

"You say that was the end of it?" Ambrose replied dubiously. "Funny, that. You were seen behaving in a threatening manner toward Knight-Commander Cullen only two days later, outside his office, in full view of everyone!"

"I had my reasons," Nathaniel said darkly.

"Would you care to share them?" Ambrose invited.

"No," came the firm reply.

"You are not helping yourself by remaining silent on this matter," Ambrose stated.

"Knight-Lieutenant," Nathaniel said with a barely-disguised sneer. "I have already proven that I can conceal myself, run rings around you and your men, and persuade others to do my bidding. If I _had_ had a mind to kill Cullen, do you really think I would have been stupid enough to leave my own dagger at the scene? I had ample opportunity to harm Cullen, had I so wished, but I did not."

Nathaniel once again stepped closer to Ambrose. "You _know _that, Knight-Lieutenant," he said emphatically. "You _know _I didn't kill Cullen, and yet for some reason you act as though I did."

Ambrose opened his mouth to speak, but never got the chance. "This conversation is over," Nathaniel said, repeating Ambrose's own words from earlier on. "Goodnight, Knight-Lieutenant. I hope you are able to sleep as well as I can."

Nathaniel turned away, and sat back down on the floor opposite Varel. Ambrose paused for a moment, before turning and heading away from the group. Varel watched the Templar as he glimpsed back for a moment, and then headed over to his tent, sitting on the ground, and staring into his fire pit.

"Well done, Nathaniel," Varel said quietly.

~x~X~x~

Gabby sat at one of the huge tables in the dining hall. It was very early in the morning, and still dark. Most of the Keep's staff had long since gone to bed; only the Silver Order night watch remained on duty outside. Alistair had returned to Denerim, and, although she felt a sense of relief, sleep eluded her. She rested her head on her hand and closed her eyes, allowing the silence to fill her, knowing that she was unlikely to be disturbed here, unless one of the Wardens came down to raid the kitchen.

If she were honest with herself, however, she _did _want someone to disturb her; she _did_ want to talk to someone. If she had truly sought solitude, she could have done so in her quarters.

"Erm…" a soft, apologetic voice sounded from behind her.

Gabby's head snapped up; Anders stood a short distance away from her, his palms held up in apology. "Sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to make you jump."

"It's alright," she mumbled with a bleary smile.

"Do you fancy some company?" he asked, to which Gabby nodded, and pulled out a chair for him.

"Anders…do you sleep in your robes?" she asked him as he sat down.

"No, I sleep in the nude," he answered matter-of-factly. "I thought I'd best put something on to come down in, and a robe is easier than a shirt and trousers," he explained.

"Oh," Gabby replied.

"I'm not wearing any pants underneath this," he confessed, grinning as Gabby burst out laughing, the first time she had done so all day. "Just thought I'd share that with you," he added mischievously.

"Thanks," she chuckled. "I'll sleep better for knowing that."

"Is that, um, what's keeping you awake?" he asked carefully. "Whether or not I wear pants? I usually do, if that helps; I just couldn't be bothered to put any on just now."

Gabby smiled warmly at him, but didn't reply.

The two of them sat in pensive silence for a few moments. Unable to think of anything witty to say, it being the middle of the night, after all, Anders sighed softly and turned to Gabby. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Honestly?"

"Honestly?" she repeated.

Of all the friends she had ever had, Anders was the one who, in many ways, was the easiest to lie to; he was easily flattered, easily taken in, and a soft touch for a hard-luck story. Nathaniel, on the other hand, could see through her, and pretty much everyone else, as though they were made of glass; there was simply no point in even trying to deceive him. She had once told Varel a white lie, and felt so guilty she swore to herself afterwards she would never do so again; it had felt like she had lied to her grandfather, or a kindly uncle.

Although she hadn't done so for a very long time, she knew she was at least _capable _of lying to Nathaniel and Varel. With Anders, however, she simply could not bring herself to do it; he was possibly the only person she had ever known with whom she had never once been dishonest.

"Confused," she answered at last.

"Do you still love him?" he asked pertinently.

Gabby didn't answer for several minutes. "I don't know," she finally replied with a shrug. "I still care about him, but love?" She sighed and fell silent for a moment, staring at the far wall.

"It's funny," she mused as she swivelled round to face Anders, "but when he's in Denerim, and I don't see him, I don't even think about him," she confessed. "I certainly don't miss him," she went on. "But when I do see him, I get this feeling…of being…out of control. Now he's gone, I feel fine. I just don't know what to make of it," she finished, shaking her head.

Anders moved his chair a little closer to Gabby's. "Well, I'm no expert, Gabs," he said, "but that doesn't sound like love to me." Gabby looked at him pensively for a moment, and, when she didn't speak, he continued. "It sounds to me like you don't particularly like him very much, if his very presence bothers you. It _is _all right to admit that, you know," he counselled. "You _can_ care for someone and dislike them at the same time," he finished.

Gabby, taken aback by his words, remained silent and continued to stare into the darkness of the hall. Was Anders right? Did she _dislike_ Alistair now? Had she lost respect for him? What was it that she felt when he was present?

"I know it can't be easy for you, Gabs," Anders said seriously. "I know the two of you were in love once, and you can't just turn those feelings off, but maybe it's time you started moving on," he opined. "Or maybe you already have; you just don't realise it."

Anders rose from his chair and sighed as he looked down at Gabby. "Maybe I'm talking out of my arse," he said with a shrug. "I am biased, after all; I'd like nothing more than for him to be out of your life. You know how I feel about him, and the way he treated you."

"No, Anders," she said, grasping at his sleeve; he sat down again. "Actually, you make a lot of sense," she admitted.

"Me?" he exclaimed with a delighted grin. "Make sense? Give advice that's not laughed at?"

"I've never laughed at your advice," Gabby said, smiling at him. "Only Varel and Nate do that, and I don't recall you ever advising them on matters of love. Maybe you are an expert, after all," she offered.

Anders' eyes lit up and he beamed proudly. "'Anders, the love doctor', I could call myself!" he suggested.

"Let's not go that far," Gabby chuckled.

"Perhaps you're right," he admitted with a rueful grin. "So, how are things going with Cullen?" he asked casually.

"Slowly," she replied with a sigh. "I…" she began, and sighed again. "It's hard for me to see him," she confessed. "My feelings for him are so raw, and sometimes, I just…want to…touch him. His face, his hand, but I can't, can I?"

"Give it time," Anders said encouragingly. "Think about it; he fell in love with you once before, and, if you're still the same person now, there's no reason he won't do so again."

"I don't know," Gabby said quietly. "I often wonder if the only reason he ever liked me was because I was forbidden."

Anders shook his head. "Every female in that Tower was forbidden to him, Gabby," he said, "but he only reacted in the way he did with you. He was the epitome of professionalism with the rest of the apprentices, remember?"

Gabby raised her eyebrows and nodded. "Yes, I suppose so," she agreed without enthusiasm.

"Gabs," Anders said quietly, "you're not usually so unsure of yourself. What's wrong?"

Gabby closed her eyes for a moment and groaned. "We still don't know why Cullen's in the Fade, do we?" she asked. "I don't want to…I don't know, completely fall for him again, only to find that one day he's not there."

"But you've already completely fallen for him," Anders stated correctly.

Gabby glanced across at her friend. "And there's you, Anders," she said, looking him in the eyes.

"Me?" he asked in confusion.

"You agreed to marry me, and yet…" she hesitated for a moment. "What of you? What if you fall in love with someone? I wouldn't ever want to stop you from finding someone special, Anders."

Anders rested his chin on his hand and looked over at the far wall. "I've told you Gabs," he reminded her, "we'll deal with that when it happens – if it happens." He then cast a sly grin in her direction. "Maybe I'll find a cute little fade spirit of my own," he joked.

"Don't do that," Gabby gently scolded.

"Don't do what?" he asked with a frown. "Find a fade spirit?"

"No – don't cover up with humour. Tell me how you really feel," she insisted.

"H-how I really feel?" Anders said hesitantly."I…I don't feel anything," he answered quickly, placing his hands on the arms of his chair, ready to remove himself from this conversation, which had suddenly taken an uncomfortable turn.

"Do you think it's acceptable, morally, to be with two people at the same time?" Gabby asked.

Anders sank back into the chair, suppressing a sigh. "You think Cullen will take a dim view of you being married to someone else?" he asked in reply.

"Perhaps," she answered. "What do you think?"

"Well," Anders began, "I've heard of other mages having a fade companion as well as a companion in the physical world; it just doesn't happen very often, because most mages are not trapped in the fade when they die. But if you're asking my opinion, I don't think there's anything wrong with that, no," he replied.

"But Cullen isn't a mage," she answered. "I've never heard of a non-magi being involved in such a thing."

"That's true," Anders replied. "Non-magi don't understand; they see it as being unfaithful." He leaned forward a little. "Just explain to him the reason you're getting married," he suggested.

"What, that I'm having another man's illegitimate child?" she said gloomily. "That'll really endear me to him, won't it?"

Anders folded his arms and sat back in his chair, at a loss as to what to say.

"Oh, Anders…I'm sorry," she said, reaching over and giving his hand a squeeze. "It's just, today…I was dreading having to tell him, and, now it's over, I feel kind of…flat."

Anders stood, perched himself on the edge of the table, and pulled Gabby up by her hands. "C'mere," he whispered. Gabby settled against his chest with a sigh, and he wrapped his arms around her. "It's done now," he reminded her. "The worst is out of the way."

"If today was meant to be a bad day, I may as well get something else out of the way," she said as she glanced up at him. "I'm going to tell Cullen tonight - everything; the pregnancy and the marriage."

"You don't _have _to tell him, you know," Anders ventured.

"I think my pregnancy will become pretty obvious in a couple of months' time," she answered.

Anders shook his head. "Only if it's a magi child," he stated. "A non-magi child won't appear in the fade with you."

"I know…" she began, and then shook her head. "No; I want to tell him everything. If there is a chance he may ever have feelings for me again, I want them to be for the real me, as I am now, and not some glamorised version of me; it would just feel hollow, otherwise."

"Fair enough," Anders said with a nod. "Are you going to tell him now?" he asked.

"Yes, I think that's best," Gabby replied; Anders released her from his arms.

"You know," Anders said softly, with a strange smile on his face, "standing this close to you, I can tell the sex of your baby," he stated.

"Really?" Gabby asked.

"Mm-hm," Anders said with a nod. "Would you like to know?" he offered.

Gabby considered this for a moment, and then glanced up at Anders. "Well, if _you_ know, I think it's only fair that I do," she said with a smile. "Whisper it to me."

"What, so no one else hears?" he laughed.

"That's right," Gabby answered with a grin.

Anders leaned down and placed his mouth next to her ear, wrinkling his nose as it was tickled by her hair. "Boy," he whispered, and drew back.

Gabby smiled and nodded her head. "And can you tell if he's magi?" she asked.

"Nope, not yet," Anders answered. "Gabby," he pleaded, "can I choose the name? Please! I know I have no right to ask, but…come on…" he said as he broke into a giggle, unable to contain his excitement.

Gabby looked at him with a delighted smile. "Alright, you can choose the name," she conceded, "as long as it's a reasonably sensible one."

"Agreed," he said quickly, pulling her close in a tight hug. There they stayed for a moment before Gabby gently pushed him back.

"Anders," she began, taking his hands in hers, "I want to tell you something."

"Sounds ominous," Anders replied with a gentle smile.

"I love you, you know," Gabby said seriously. "But it's a different kind of love I feel for you; it's an enduring one. Out of everyone, you are the one I couldn't imagine being without. I just wanted you to know that. You really are very special to me, you know," she finished.

Anders was suddenly very grateful for the darkness of the hall, as he felt his cheeks tingle and burn. "You're not so bad yourself, Gabs," he replied in what he hoped was a light-hearted tone.

"Best of luck with Cullen," he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Anders," she replied, releasing his hands and walking out of the hall.

Anders watched her leave and, with a heavy sigh, walked over to the window, looking up at the night sky. "So, that's how it feels for a woman to tell you she loves you like a brother," he said to the stars.


	8. A Tale Of Three Templars

_Thank you once again to those of you who continue to read, review, alert and favourite. It really means the world to me._

_A huge 'thank-you' to CCBug for her invaluable advice and input into this chapter._

~x~X~x~

Night had fallen over the barley field - Cullen's doing, no doubt. Gabby strolled through the thigh-high stalks, the wind whispering around her as she approached his home. Looking upward, she caught sight of a star cluster that she and Cullen had attempted to name several nights earlier, and smiled at the memory. Since the cluster lacked any discernable shape, they had competed to think of the silliest name for it they could – Cullen's 'the burst tomato' secured him a decisive victory.

She hesitated outside the cottage, and closed her eyes, drawing a steadying breath. Since she had discovered the truth of her situation - that she was pregnant, unwed, and that the father of her child a married man, she had dreaded sharing it with Cullen. The Chantry viewed her as a sinner, pure and simple; and, as Cullen had been raised within the Chantry, she suspected that his reaction may be similar.

Gabby recalled a time when an apprentice had become pregnant, and the response within the Tower had been swift; the girl was sent off to a remote chantry, and the child taken away. From that time on, it was not the apprentice's budding talent as a healer that was remembered, but her 'sinful' and 'scandalous' actions.

Cullen was not at the Tower then, and so Gabby could not predict his reaction, but she had faith in the compassionate and decent man she called friend. Ultimately, she knew he would accept her still.

Why, then, was her stomach twisted into knots?

Cullen clearly retained no memory of being a Templar, but who he was, fundamentally, was still there. He seemed to be the same good man she remembered before his horrific time with Uldred; and, while this comforted Gabby greatly, it also made her suspect that his Chantry-influenced sense of morals was also intact.

She released a shaky breath as she knocked at the door of the cottage, and glanced around as she waited for an answer. The door opened, and Cullen's face dropped for a second, before his eyes widened and a huge grin illuminated his features as he set eyes on her.

"Gabby…I had not expected you…" he said in surprise. "What I mean to say is, well, I haven't seen you for a while…have you been well?" he asked, ushering her into the cottage.

"Oh, yes, quite well, thank you," she replied. "I've just been…busy, that's all," she mumbled, cringing at her pitiful excuse.

"Oh, I see," he said in a non-committal tone. "Have you been getting enough sleep?" he asked.

"I never get enough sleep," she said with a shrug as she looked around the cottage. A huge fireplace dominated the room, in front of which lay Cullen's three canine companions; all far too warm and comfortable to rise and greet Gabby, they instead wagged their tails in acknowledgement. The main room was well-furnished, containing a bench, a table and two chairs, an armoire, a bureau and a large wooden chest. Drapes adorned the windows, and tapestries hung from the walls. In comparison to the bare stone and hard wood of Vigil's Keep, it was luxurious.

"This is beautiful, Cullen," Gabby commented, taking a seat on the bench. "Did you create this?" she asked.

"No," he replied, keeping a respectful distance from her as he sat at the table. "It was already here, as were the dogs." Knowing that Cullen's family had owned three dogs when he was a young boy, Gabby surmised that she sat in an approximation of Cullen's childhood home.

She nodded and straightened her back, taking care not to slouch, as she would do as a guest in anyone's home. As she continued to take in her surroundings, she felt Cullen's eyes on her, and her stomach flipped under his gaze.

"Are-are you all right?" he asked with concern. "It is just that…look, I don't expect you to visit me every night," he said with a nervous laugh, "but, well, I've missed you." The colour suddenly drained from his face and he rose to his feet. "What I mean is, I've come to enjoy your company, and now I can see why we used to be friends," he added in a nervous monotone.

Gabby rose with a sigh and walked over to the table; he waited until she was seated before joining her. She took a deep breath and exhaled before speaking.

"To tell you the truth, Cullen, I've been avoiding seeing you," she admitted.

Cullen drew slightly away from her. "Have-have I done something to offend you?" he asked in dismay.

"Oh, no, of course not!" she reassured him, instinctively reaching for his hand, and then retracting hers before it made contact. "Cullen, what you said, about our being friends? Your friendship means a great deal to me, but, I, um…I have to tell you something, and I'm afraid to," she said. "I fear you will think less of me when I do, and that I shall lose your respect."

"I can't imagine what could be so terrible that it would cause me to think less of you," he replied. "Did I know of it when we were friends before?" he asked.

"No," she answered, raising her eyes to meet his. "It has only occurred recently."

"Please tell me," Cullen softly pleaded, "if only to unburden yourself; I can see this is causing you pain."

Gabby's gaze turned to the table and she remained silent as her mind raced. _Where do I start? _She thought frantically. _Do I tell him the father of my child is the King? If he asks me directly, am I going to lie? What will I do if he's disgusted, scandalised?_

"I'm with child…" she began quietly, still looking at the table. "…and unmarried."

Cullen made no sign of reacting, and Gabby ventured a glance at him; his expression was neutral, unreadable.

"Is the father going to marry you?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "He can't."

"Why not?" he asked with a frown, indignation creeping into his voice. "Why would he not honour you with his name?"

"He has since married another," she said, "although they were not wed at the time I became pregnant," she added desperately, sensing his growing disapproval.

"He should have married _you_!" Cullen said angrily. "Wait…does he actually know?" he asked.

"Yes, he knows," Gabby answered, "but we both found out too late. He was already married by then."

Cullen rose from the table, crossed over to the fireplace, and crouched down, idly scratching one of the dog's heads in an attempt to distract himself. "Gabby…" he began slowly. "…was this man betrothed to his wife when the two of you were together?" he asked, his words careful and measured, but with a rigid edge to them.

_That's it – it's over, _she thought, feeling her heart crash down through her stomach.

"Yes," she whispered.

Cullen rose and remained next to the fireplace. "I can't say I approve of that, Gabby," he said tersely, and then released a deep sigh.

"I know," she agreed, her sagging posture reflecting her defeated tone. "Cullen, the situation is very complicated," she said pleadingly.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"My friend…my friend has offered to marry me," she said. "I have accepted, and we hope to wed soon."

Cullen exhaled heavily. "That is an honourable act," he said quietly, turning away from her to face the fireplace. "I am glad the child will not be born out of wedlock."

Sensing his disappointment, Gabby fought desperately to stem the unbidden tears that sprang to her eyes. She rose to her feet and walked over to the door; Cullen still did not look at her.

"Do…do you want me to visit you again?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

After a pause, Cullen finally answered. "I…this has been a shock to me," he explained. "I'm sorry," he said, turning to face her. "Just give me some time…what you have done, it...it goes against everything I believe decent people don't do; this is hard for me to accept."

"I understand," she murmured. "I'll respect your opinion," she said as she opened the door and exited, closing it behind her.

Cullen's hands covered his mouth; he paced back and forth, his unsettled feeling causing him to sit down and immediately stand up again. His harsh judgement, and the pain his words had caused her, suddenly overwhelmed him, and he made for the door.

"Gabby, wait!" he called, scanning the field. "Gabby! I'm sorry! I didn't mean…"

As he stared, wide-eyed, into the gloom, he realised – too late – that she had already left the fade.

~x~X~x~

Knight-Lieutenant Ambrose woke with a start as a gruff voice called to him from outside his tent; it was his turn to take watch.

"I'll be out in a minute," he said in a voice thick with sleep, clearing his throat. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt swollen and furry. Howe had been right; he had not slept well at all.

After Knight-Commander Smyth had appointed him second-in-command at the Tower, Ambrose had learned the identities of the Templars who policed their brethren in the name of the Grand Cleric. It had not sat well with Ambrose that they, rather than Knight-Commander Smyth, had sent him to Vigil's Keep to apprehend Howe, and their reason for suspecting the Warden – that Cullen had been killed with Howe's dagger, which Howe himself had reported missing days before – he found frankly ludicrous.

Ambrose knew that Cullen had been almost universally hated throughout the Tower, and he could understand why, having witnessed one of the deceased Commander's flogging sessions. What he failed to understand was why the Grand Cleric's knights were not questioning the other Templars at the Tower, who appeared to have a greater motive to kill Cullen.

On his way to Vigil's Keep, Ambrose had endeavoured to convince himself of Howe's guilt - the duel, the threats, the animosity between the two men – all had influenced his opinion. The fact that Ambrose and his men were threatened and stalled upon their arrival at Vigil's Keep only made it easier for him to think ill of the Grey Wardens. Warden Howe had made little effort to endear himself to Ambrose: sneaking around camp, fooling his men into believing he'd escaped; constantly undermining his authority, and exchanging barbed remarks and inappropriate jokes about Templars and the Chantry with the apostate Wardens.

But did any of those things make him a murderer?

Ambrose was forced to conclude that they did not. He didn't particularly like Howe and his disrespectful attitude, but he had to grudgingly admire him; Howe was intelligent, cunning, resourceful and astute, and seemed to exude an aura of invulnerability.

_Do you really think I'd be stupid enough to leave my own dagger at the scene?_

Ambrose pushed back his tent flap with a sigh and looked around the camp. One of his subordinates stood nearby, waiting to be relieved, and, over by the main fire, Warden Howe sat cross-legged, skinning rabbits with his dagger.

"He's been hunting, ser," the Templar explained. "We kept an eye on him, but he disappeared for a while. He _did _return, though. He's skinning some conies. Don't know if he'll share them with us, though," he grumbled.

"Anything else to report?" Ambrose asked blearily, to which the Templar shook his head. "All right, get yourself to bed," Ambrose instructed as he clambered to his feet.

"Thank you, ser," the Templar replied with a bow, and retreated to his tent.

Ambrose stood outside his tent for several moments observing Howe. Although the Warden faced away from him, and was obviously concentrating on his task, Ambrose still felt those cool grey eyes on him, almost as though Howe had a third eye. He _knew _Ambrose was looking at him. Eventually, the Knight-Lieutenant walked over, if only to rid himself of the feeling he was being watched.

He stood behind Howe, who made no sign that he had noticed his approach. "Good hunt?" the Knight-Lieutenant asked. Howe slowly looked up, fixed Ambrose with those _eyes _of his, and coolly nodded once, before resuming his task. "How many did you catch?" Ambrose asked.

"Six," the Warden replied without looking up.

"Going into a stew, are they?" Ambrose enquired, beginning to feel foolish for making small talk with someone who clearly didn't want to talk to him.

"What else?" Howe replied quietly, as he pulled off one of the rabbit's skins in one clean stroke, revealing the pink meat beneath, then sliced off its head, and snapped off its feet. Ambrose gulped and looked away for a moment.

"Was there something you wanted?" Howe asked.

"No, not really," Ambrose replied. "I'm, erm…going to do a sweep."

"Don't let me keep you then," the Warden answered.

As Ambrose departed and headed for the perimeter of the camp, Nathaniel finally looked up, allowing a nascence of a smile to grace his lips, before reaching for another coney and slipping his dagger beneath its pelt.

~x~X~x~

Anders meandered his way into the dining hall in a bleary-eyed daze. The sun had just started to rise, and he peered out of a window, watching the changing of the guard. Soon becoming bored of that, he headed across to the kitchen with the intention of raiding the pantry.

Before entering, he glanced around, and, satisfied that the hall was empty, stretched his arms and broke wind with impunity.

"Oh, morning, Anders," an incorporeal voice spoke.

Anders froze; that voice sounded familiar…had they seen him, or _heard _him?

"Maker's breath, Bridie!" he exclaimed as the cook's head bobbed up from behind the counter. "What are you doing up so early?" he asked the cook, somewhat rattled at her appearance.

"I'm up this early every morning," Bridie replied, "and, unless you have a spell for chopping vegetables and butchering meat, I will continue to be," she added.

"I'm good, but I'm not _that _good," Anders chuckled to himself as he entered the kitchen.

"Out!" shouted Bridie. "I won't have you and your toxic arse coming in here!"

"But that wasn't me!" Anders protested implausibly. "It must have been a…creaking floor joist or something…" he mumbled.

"Well, you're a better mage than you thought, if you can make _stone_ creak, lad," Bridie said, waving him away dismissively. "Go on – hop it. I've got work to do."

Anders tutted and sighed. "But I'm bored," he whined.

"Well, the Commander's in her office – go and pester her," she replied.

He glanced toward Gabby's office, and, sure enough, a thin shard of light shone from beneath her door. Frowning, he walked over, and knocked.

When no answer came, he knocked again. "Are you there?" he called. "It's me."

Anders heard a sigh from within. "Come in," Gabby said.

He entered to find her hunched over her desk, writing. "You're up early," she said without looking up.

"What's going on?" he asked. "Are you working late, or early?" he said, narrowing his eyes as he tried to get a good look at her face.

"Early," she replied, as Anders took a seat.

"Gabby…" he said softly. "Have you been crying?"

She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak, but, try as she might, she could not lie to him, and instead shrugged her shoulders.

Anders leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand. "Did you see Cullen?" he asked gently, to which she nodded her head. He released a deep sigh, and slumped back in the chair. "Dare I ask how it went?" he ventured cautiously.

"Not well," she answered, and looked up; her eyes were red and puffy, and a fresh film of tears coated them as she blinked rapidly, glancing to the side, unable to look at him. "He was…" she faltered, scrabbling for the right words. "He was…scandalised, just as I feared he would be."

"I don't get it," Anders replied. "He's not a Templar any more…why would he react like that?"

"He doesn't remember being a Templar, true, but he _was_ raised by the Chantry," she said with a lethargic shrug.

"Well then, the Chantry had plenty of time to brainwash him, didn't they?" he huffed. "Was he nasty to you?" he asked pointedly.

She shook her head. "No…he was very calm…he-he just didn't approve of what I told him. I suppose I felt the same way when I found out I was pregnant…the first thing that came into my head was that I was unmarried."

"That's not the point!" Anders said angrily, and then, as a tear slipped down Gabby's cheek, his breath caught and he reached a hand across the desk to clasp hers. "What are you going to do?" he asked sadly.

"I don't know," she said heavily. "I-I'm not sure I can ever face him again," she whispered.

Anders remained silent; as distraught as he was to see her cry, to his shame a small part of him was glad to hear her say that.

Gabby cursed and clutched at her chest as a loud knock sounded at the door. "I'll get it," Anders said, standing up. "You've done nothing to be ashamed of," he reminded her as he reached for the door.

He stepped out, and had a brief conversation with someone outside. "Erm, Gabs," he said hesitantly as he re-entered the room, "a woman has just arrived at the Keep, and she's asking for you."

"At this hour of the day?" she asked in surprise, wiping her eyes. "Does she hail from the arling?"

"No, apparently she's just arrived here under guard," he replied. "She has three young boys with her, and is seeking sanctuary at Vigil's Keep."

"What? Sanctuary?" Gabby exclaimed, rising from her chair. She let her head fall back onto her shoulders and groaned loudly. "Does it never end, Anders?" she asked wearily.

"Look, I'll take care of this, if you like," he offered.

"No…no, I'd better go, it sounds like she's in trouble of some kind," she said with a sigh. "Will you help me?" she asked him. "My reserves of charm and sympathy are just about empty."

"Always," he replied, gesturing for her to precede him.

~x~X~x~

"Your Grace," Alistair said with reverence as he bowed before the Grand Cleric in her office. "Thank you for agreeing to see me at such short notice."

"I am always at your disposal, Your Majesty," the elderly woman replied as she curtsied.

"Please, be seated," Alistair offered with a gesture of his hand, waiting for the head of the Chantry in Ferelden to sit at her desk before he did.

"Your Grace," he began in a serious tone. "I must bring an unusual matter to your attention. I have just returned from Vigil's Keep, where I heard some disturbing news concerning the Circle Tower."

"Ah, I believe I can save you from speaking further," the Grand Cleric replied, opening one of the drawers in her desk, and retrieving a letter. "I received this only this morning," she informed the King, passing the letter over to him. "It is from the newly-appointed Knight-Commander, Tristan Smyth," she finished as Alistair took the letter and began to read.

If the tone of the letter had not been so grave, the Grand Cleric would have been amused at the range of facial expressions the King was capable of exhibiting. At first, his brow was creased by a frown; then, one of his eyebrows shot up, followed by the other. As he neared the end of the letter, Alistair fairly gawked at her, his mouth hanging open.

"Wh…this…this is unthinkable!" he spluttered. "Do you have no control over your Templars?" he asked accusingly, then took a deep breath to calm himself. "Just how did something like this happen?"

"That is what I intend to find out," the Grand Cleric answered, her voice betraying no emotion as she elegantly rose from her seat; Alistair followed. "I shall depart for Kinloch Hold without further delay. Will His Majesty be accompanying me?" she asked.

"Alas, I am unable, as I have an important matter to attend to at home," he replied. "I shall send a trusted envoy with you, and will grant him discretionary powers to speak and act on my behalf in this matter," Alistair pledged. "Will that suffice, Your Grace?"

"That will more than suffice, Sire," she replied with a small curtsey. "Now, if there is nothing further, I should prepare."

"There is one thing," Alistair said as he headed for the door. "In spite of what he says in his letter, I want you to know that Warden-Commander Surana spoke very highly of Smyth; indeed, she commended him as being a deeply honourable and devout man."

"I am not interested in personalities, Sire," the Grand Cleric said coolly. "To consider such things will only cloud my judgement. All who have sinned shall be dealt with."

Alistair wondered if someone had left a window open somewhere, as he felt a sudden icy draught run down his back. "I trust you will do the right thing, Your Grace," Alistair said firmly, knowing full well that any veiled threats against the Chantry were meaningless. "Good morning to you," he added crisply with a bow. "I wish you a safe journey."

"You're too kind, Sire," the elderly priestess replied, curtseying once more.

Alistair made his way back to the family wing of the Palace, aware that he had broken into a sweat as he neared his destination. He touched his cheeks; they were hot and sticky, and he knew his face must be bright pink.

"No…" he muttered, frantically fanning his face with his hand.

He continued on his way, finally reaching a large oak door. Taking several deep breaths, he rapped upon it.

"Come in!" a cheery female voice called.

Alistair strode in, affecting the most commanding walk and posture he could muster. "Oh…" he mumbled, as he noticed that, instead of one woman being in the room, there were five.

The Queen stood on a plinth, surrounded by three handmaidens and a seamstress; she was being fitted into a new dress. Queen Elissa nodded to her servants, who departed the room quickly, bowing low to the King as they passed him.

Alistair closed the door and walked over to his wife. "My dear," he began, "I am sorry I have not made myself available to you lately - something I intend to remedy immediately."

"Oh, I know how busy you are," Elissa said with a bright smile, "I do miss you at night, though, my lord," she hinted.

Alistair coughed and clasped his hands behind his back to stop himself from wringing them. "Well, erm…that is one of many areas in which I have been remiss in my duties…"

"Then, will you come to my room tonight?" the Queen asked hopefully.

"I will," he answered stoically, feeling his blush deepening.

The Queen moved closer to her handsome husband, placing her hands on his chest. "I am so glad, my lord," she said happily. "If only to stop Eamon harping on about an heir!"

"Oh, of course," Alistair replied, unable to stop himself from breaking into a giggle. "What other reason would there be?" he said with a lopsided smile.

"What, indeed?" Elissa agreed, looking down at her cleavage. "Do you like my dress?" she enquired of her husband.

"Erm, yes…it's very, um…_nice_, my dear," Alistair babbled. "Very nice, indeed."

"What a pity," the Queen replied with mock sadness. "I shall not be wearing it tonight."

"Erm, yes…no…of course you won't," Alistair mumbled and cleared his throat theatrically. "I, um, I'd better go…erm, Eamon wanted me for something, I think, and I've got to sort out an envoy to go with the Grand Cleric, and…"

"Go, then," Elissa replied with a gentle laugh. Alistair bent down and placed a soft kiss on his wife's cheek, fearing he would set fire to her face as he did so. "Until tonight," she whispered. "I shall be ready for you when you call," she promised.

Alistair smiled and dipped his head, and then turned toward the door. _I just hope I will be_, he thought anxiously.


	9. The Plot Thickens

"Is it obvious I've been crying?" Gabby asked Anders as they left her office.

He stopped and looked closely into her eyes, his gaze lingering as he marvelled at what a vivid shade of yellow-green they were. "Asparagus," he said softly.

"W-what?" Gabby asked, taken aback.

Anders gasped and seemed to snap out of a dream. "Oh, erm…I-I meant your eyes…they're the colour of asparagus," he explained, before wincing as though stuck with a pin.

In spite of the way she felt, Gabby could not help laughing. "So _now _I know why you were so popular with the ladies at the Tower," she said, raising her eyebrows.

Anders looked wounded. "You mean it wasn't obvious before?" he asked. "My looks, my dazzling wit, my lean and tight physique? You never noticed any of that?"

"You have need of none of those things, Anders, when you have lines like _that _one," she teased.

Anders glanced sideways at her. "Why do I get the feeling you're trying to spare my feelings?" he asked, stopping in front of her. "Close your eyes and hold still," he instructed, gently touching her eyelids with his fingers. Gabby felt a faint tingling sensation around her eyes, and a feeling of energising warmth rose from her toes to the top of her head as Anders simultaneously healed and rejuvenated her. "There, no one would ever know," he assured her.

"Thanks," she said with a soft smile.

"They're next door," he said, referring to their visitors. "Are you sure you're up to this?"

Gabby nodded. "Yes, I'm intrigued, now," she answered. "Thanks for cheering me up," she said, looking up at her friend.

"Anytime," he replied, delighted to see her smile.

They entered the main foyer of Vigil's Keep to find a nervous-looking woman with three boys huddled around her. Conn Ballard – who had kept them company until the Commander's arrival – bowed and departed.

"W-Warden-Commander?" the lady asked as Gabby and Anders approached.

"Gabby Surana," she replied, "and this is my second, Anders Amell."

Anders grinned at being called her _second_ – making a mental note to rub it in Nate's face when he returned - and bowed politely to the visitors.

"Are you a mage?" one of the boys asked in wonder.

"Stanley…" his mother warned.

"Might be," Anders replied, folding his arms and tilting his head back. "Who wants to know?"

"Stanley Lovell, ser," the young boy replied.

"_Ser?_" Anders laughed. "Well, I think you may be the first person ever to have called me _that." _He approached the awe-struck boys and crouched down next to them. "Would you like me to show you some magic?" he offered. "If you're not doing anything else important at the moment, that is."

He was almost deafened by the clamour his offer caused. "Oh, please, mama! Let us go with him!" the boys begged. Their mother nodded gratefully to Anders, who rose to his feet.

"Are you sure?" he teased, clamping his hands over his ears at the delighted whoops and squeals which assailed him. "Come on then," he said, leading the boys out into the yard.

Gabby smiled at him and gestured toward her office. "Please, come with me," she said to the boys' mother.

"Oh, forgive me, Commander, my name is Gwendoline Lovell," she said in introduction, "but most people call me Gwen."

"Well, I will call you Gwen if you call me Gabby."

"Oh, of course, Gabby," Gwen said with a nervous laugh.

The two ladies took a seat in Gabby's office. "I understand you're in some kind of trouble," Gabby said to Gwen.

"Well, I-I don't know for certain," Gwen replied uncertainly. "I had a letter from my brother yesterday, telling me to leave home immediately and seek refuge at Vigil's Keep. He said we were in danger as long as we stayed at home, but did not say why. He said he knows you, and that you were a kind and honourable woman."

"Your brother?" Gabby asked with a frown. "Who is he?"

"Tristan Smyth, Knight-Commander of the Circle Tower," Gwen answered.

Gabby's frown deepened as she scrutinised the woman sat in front of her. "Yes…" Gabby said after a moment. "…I can see the family resemblance." She clasped her hands together and rested her chin on them. "He gave no indication as to the nature of your peril?" she asked.

"No," Gwen replied apologetically. "He did, however, send a second letter addressed to you – I have it here," she said as she fumbled through her meagre belongings to retrieve a sealed letter, which she passed to Gabby. "I must admit I was tempted to open it," Gwen confessed, "hoping it would provide answers, but I thought I'd best not, with you being so important, and all."

Gabby snorted gently at being called 'important'. "I probably would have been tempted to do the same," she said to Gwen. "In fact, I think I _would _have opened it. I commend you for your restraint."

Gabby tried to stop her hands from trembling as she broke the seal on the letter; for some reason a feeling of dread had settled over her. She shook the letter out and read it:

_Dear Gabby,_

_Please forgive my impertinence in sending my sister and her family to you. I could think of no one else I could trust who lived so close to her. _

_I must ask you not to reveal to her what I am about to tell you – I am taking a grave risk in sending this letter at all. A threat has been made against her by agents of the Chantry, who are trying to force my hand in a certain matter. I have no intention of capitulating, and therefore I must do all I can to protect her._

_I fear I can say no more. Please forgive me – and, be assured, that one way or another, this matter will be resolved in the coming weeks. I would also assure you that I will do everything in my power to see that Nathaniel is treated fairly – I know very well, as do you, that he is innocent._

_I hope that you are faring well after learning of Knight-Commander Cullen's death. I know that the two of you were close, and that you cared for him a great deal. If it is of any comfort to you, I know for a fact that he did not suffer, and that he now rests at the Maker's side. I lit his pyre, and whispered a few words on your behalf to him. I have retained some keepsakes of his which I would be honoured to present to you, should we meet again._

_Should we not, my second - Knight-Lieutenant Ambrose - will keep them for you._

_Whatever happens in the coming weeks, Gabby, I would like to say what an honour and pleasure it was to make your and Nathaniel's acquaintance. _

_May the Maker watch over you, and those dear to you, always._

_Tristan Smyth._

"Did he say anything?" Gwen asked.

"Mmm?" Gabby murmured in a daze, quickly remembering where she was, and who she was with. "Oh, erm, not really," she lied. "Come," she said, rising to her feet. "I'll have Varel…oh, no…I'll have quarters prepared for you and your sons. You will be safe here," she assured Gwen.

"Oh, I don't know how I shall ever be able to repay you for your kindness," Gwen said, her voice cracking as she spoke. "Wait…my husband…"

"Your husband?" Gabby asked.

"He-he's due home soon," Gwen stammered. "He's been working away…I-I didn't have chance to leave him a note to warn him…oh, Maker!" Gwen covered her mouth with trembling hands.

Gabby walked over to Gwen and placed her hand on the woman's shoulder. "I'll send a couple of my men to watch your farm," she said quietly. "They can bring your husband here when he returns home."

"Oh, but – I couldn't ask you to do that…" Gwen began.

"Knight-Commander Smyth is a friend of mine," Gabby said. "Nothing is too much trouble for him, or his loved ones."

Gwen, overwhelmed at Gabby's kindness, burst into tears. Gabby stood next to the seated woman, gently rubbing her shoulder, while looking out of the window at Anders shooting lightning bolts into the sky, much to the delight of his young charges. She realised, as she looked down at the distraught woman, that she felt no sympathy, no pain at Gwen's plight; that her pledge to assist Gwen was nothing more than an automatic response. She felt empty, drained and exhausted, and incapable of feeling anything other than numbness.

"Why don't you go outside and see your boys, and I'll have our staff prepare quarters for you," Gabby suggested, longing for solitude.

"Oh, yes," Gwen agreed, wiping her eyes and sniffling as she stood up. Gabby showed her out into the courtyard, and headed back inside, feeling a pair of soft brown eyes following her as she did so.

She closed her office door, sat at her desk, and read the letter again, trying to make sense of it.

_Agents of the Chantry_. Were they 'the watchers?' Why would they threaten Smyth and his family?

_I know very well, as you do, that he is innocent. _If Smyth was so convinced of Nathaniel's innocence, why had his second, Ambrose, seemed so convinced of his guilt?

_Should we meet again…whatever happens…it was an honour to make your and Nathaniel's acquaintance. _Gabby shuddered at Smyth's ominous-sounding words.

_He now rests at the Maker's side. _Gabby put the letter down and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a powerful and unpleasant sensation rise inside her. She opened her eyes and looked at her hands; tiny arcs of blue energy danced on her palms. She squeezed her hands together and rose, exiting her office in search of Wardens Willoughby and Bailey.

~x~X~x~

Knight-Lieutenant Ambrose stared balefully at the stark, aloof silhouette of Kinloch Hold which lay far off in the distance, at least a day's travel away – but, to him, it seemed to loom ominously close. His party's five days and nights of travel seemed to have run away from him, and he felt ill-prepared for, and ill-at-ease with, their imminent return to the Tower.

He turned to locate Warden Howe, only to find Nathaniel, and Varel, looking back at him as they quietly conversed over a bubbling pot of rabbit stew. Ambrose set his jaw in a determined line and walked over to the two men.

"Would you care for some stew, Knight-Lieutenant?" Varel offered magnanimously.

"Oh, erm, in a moment, thank you," Ambrose replied, stroking his beard as he stared into the pot.

Nathaniel tilted his head quizzically. "Is there something we can do for you?" he asked.

Ambrose looked up, forcing himself to meet the Warden's penetrating stare. "I would speak with you," he said.

"We're speaking now, aren't we?" Nathaniel replied, feigning ignorance.

"In private," Ambrose said firmly.

"Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of seneschal Varel," Nathaniel said, crossing his arms and shifting his weight in a display of mulishness Varel had seen many times before. "Or not at all," Nathaniel continued. "I'll only tell him anyway, so you may as well say what's on your mind."

Realising that the Warden spoke true, Ambrose opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. He turned slightly away from the two men, who exchanged glances, and then faced them again, having finally found the right words. "I would like to make you aware of procedure upon entering the Circle Tower," he began.

"I already know," Nathaniel replied irreverently. "Don't leave the main doors open, and don't help any mages to escape. Got it."

"Very funny," Ambrose retorted as Varel nudged Nathaniel with a disapproving frown, although the older man's eyes danced with mirth.

"All right," Nathaniel said, holding his hands up. "Say your piece."

Ambrose sighed deeply, and paced a little as he spoke. "It is likely you will be taken into custody immediately upon our arrival, and removed for questioning."

"Removed? To where?" Nathaniel asked.

"Perhaps that was a poor choice of words," Ambrose replied. "You will not be taken from the Tower – at least, not yet – but will be locked up in one of the dungeon cells. It is normal procedure for prisoners," he added in an almost apologetic tone.

"Warden Howe is not one of your maleficars," Varel said sternly. "He is a Grey Warden, and a hero in Amaranthine, I'll have you know – you are not going to lock him up in a rat-infested cell," he barked, giving the Knight-Lieutenant a hard look.

"It is not something I have any control over, ser," Ambrose admitted. "I was merely instructed to bear Warden Howe to the Tower. Once there, I shall have no further involvement in the investigation."

"Then who will?" Nathaniel asked. "Knight-Commander Smyth?"

"I do not believe so," Ambrose opined, "as it was not him who sent me for you."

"I don't understand," Nathaniel said, genuinely confused. "He is in charge of the Tower, is he not?" Ambrose remained silent and continued to pace. A look of understanding slowly crossed Nathaniel's face. "I see. One of your Chantry spies, then."

When Ambrose made no effort to correct him, Nathaniel pressed him further. "This is all a set-up, isn't it?" he said with biting scorn. "Well, I don't know why they've bothered. There is no substantial or plausible evidence against me, and my trial will be a complete sham."

"I don't believe there is to be a trial," Ambrose said quietly.

"Now, just a moment!" Varel exclaimed, positioning himself directly in front of Ambrose. "I am well-versed in Fereldan law, and any charges brought against a person are null and void without a proper trial! Or does the Chantry believe itself to be above the law, now?"

Ambrose blanched under the seneschal's fierce gaze. "In some respects, the Chantry _is _above the law," he said. "At the Tower, matters such as this have always been dealt with…internally."

"What do they plan to do with me?" Nathaniel asked. "A straight answer, Ambrose," he demanded.

"I believe you will be extradited to the mages' prison at Dragon's Peak," Ambrose said ruefully.

"The mages' prison?" Nathaniel murmured. "Anders has mentioned that…" He turned his back on the other two men and fell silent.

"Over my dead body," Varel scathed. "I demand we speak with Knight-Commander Smyth as soon as we reach the Tower, and put a stop to this bloody foolishness!"

"That may not be possible," Ambrose said quietly, "as he will not be involved in the investigation…"

"He knows I'm innocent, doesn't he?" Nathaniel interrupted, turning to face Ambrose. "And that is why he is being kept away from me, is it not?"

Ambrose held Nathaniel's gaze for a moment, before looking at the ground.

"Smyth's just as powerless as you, isn't he?" Nathaniel said to Ambrose. "Just how much control do these special Templars have over you and him?"

"Absolute," Ambrose replied succinctly. "They report directly to the Grand Cleric."

Nathaniel grasped the back of his neck and puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled.

"Why are you telling us this now?" Varel asked. "You believe Nathaniel to be innocent, too, don't you, Ambrose?"

"My opinion counts for naught, ser," Ambrose admitted, answering Varel's question.

"Is there anything else you can tell us?" Varel asked.

"Nothing, I fear, ser," he answered. "This is all I know, I swear to you."

Varel nodded. "Well, I appreciate you telling us, though it took you long enough. At least we know what to expect, now."

Ambrose returned Varel's nod, and glanced at Nathaniel, who seemed not to have heard the conversation as he stared at the distant Tower. Ambrose turned and retreated to his tent, which he began to dismantle.

"Nathaniel?" Varel asked softly. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were nervous."

"Perhaps I have reason to be, Varel," he replied dismally, his eyes still fixed on the Tower. Although Anders had a reputation for exaggeration, the mage's deadly serious tone when he had told Nathaniel of what went on at Aeonar had chilled his blood.

Varel placed a hand on Nathaniel's shoulder and whispered to him: "well, don't let these bastards see it. Let's just get breakfast out of the way, and we'll discuss what we're going to do once we're underway, all right?"

Nathaniel nodded silently, and walked over to his own tent to pack his belongings. Padraig and Chauncey, having overheard a little of the conversation, left him alone, sensing his need for solitude, even though they were itching to speak to him.

"Come on!" called Varel. "If any of you Templars want some food, you'd better be quick, before the Wardens demolish it!"

~x~X~x~

Gabby found her Templar Wardens in a small room at the rear of the Keep she had allocated them to use for prayer. Hearing soft voices coming from within, she refrained from entering, not wishing to disturb them. The voices stopped, and the door was opened by Martin – who immediately gasped in horror upon setting eyes on Gabby; not at her appearance, but at the powerful arcane energy he could feel radiating off her. Instinctively, he reached for his sword; then, upon realising his mistake, quickly loosened his grip on it, and ushered her into the room, closing the door.

Meredith rose from one knee with a similar look of alarm on his face. "What has happened?" he asked with grave concern.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you," Gabby said shakily, "but I need one of you to drain my mana – quickly. I feel like…I…like I'm going to hurt someone." She shook her head, holding her palms up for the Templars to see; the air in the room fairly crackled with static.

"Sit down," Martin said firmly, feeling very uncomfortable at what he was sensing from his Commander, but at the same time wanting to help her. Gabby did as instructed, and Martin placed his hands on her shoulders. "Prepare yourself," he warned.

Gabby nodded, immediately feeling every muscle in her body quiver and then slacken as a shattering wave of fatigue hit her like a slap across the face. "Are you all right, Gabby?" Martin asked, clutching at her face and examining her eyes.

"Yes, thank you very much," she answered listlessly, her arms hanging limply at her sides.

"Come, we should see you to your quarters," offered Meredith.

"No," Gabby answered. "I need to talk to you."

Meredith shot Martin a sly glance, and nodded once, before exiting the room. Martin sat down next to Gabby, who felt tiny and insignificant next to the huge warrior in Templar armour sat next to her. "What has happened, Gabby?" he asked, repeating Meredith's earlier question.

"What hasn't happened?" she replied, sighing shakily. "Oh…I just let things get on top of me for a moment," she explained. "It happens. Thank you for acting so quickly."

"You are welcome," Martin replied hesitantly. "I-I am sorry for…for reaching for my sword, it is just…"

Gabby stopped his words by gently clutching his arm. "I recruited you for your Templar abilities, Martin. I can't very well start blaming you for reacting like a Templar, can I?"

"I suppose not," he answered with a gentle smile. "What did you want to talk to us about?" he asked.

"I'm going to ask you a very odd question, which you may feel uncomfortable answering," she said.

"I will answer anything you care to ask, if I know the answer," he vowed. "You are my Commander, as well as being my friend."

Gabby smiled warmly at Martin, realising she no longer felt numb as a lump came to her throat at his kind words. She took a deep breath and coughed lightly. "What can you tell me about the Templars sanctioned by the Grand Cleric to spy on the rest of the Templars in the Tower?" she asked.

Martin's head snapped towards Gabby, a curious look settling on his face. "How do you know about them?" he asked with a combination of curiosity and admiration.

At that moment, Meredith returned with Anders, who stopped in the doorway, placing his hands on his hips. "Upstairs," he said to Gabby.

"I'm talking to Martin," she began.

"_Now_," he said in a brittle voice.

"We can speak later," Martin offered, rising and holding his hand out to Gabby.

Realising that Anders was serious, she decided not to argue and gratefully took Martin's hand as he helped her to her feet.

"I'll take over from here," Anders said to Martin, taking Gabby's arm and leading her away.

When the Templars were sure the mages were out of earshot, Martin closed the door and lowered his voice. "Gabby knows about the eunuchs, you know," he said.

Meredith looked unsurprised. "Most of the mages in the Tower probably know about them," he surmised. "That Jerome has a big mouth. I saw him taking lunch with Gabby and Nathaniel during their stay at the Tower."

"Jerome?" Martin asked. "Oh…Jerome. The one who fancied himself as a ladies' man."

"Oh, he was a _man's_ man, too," Meredith said with a raised eyebrow. "He was the one caught with Magnusson, you know."

"What?" Martin asked incredulously. "You mean Cullen was right?"

"Right? Was flogging the man to death right?" Meredith asked with equal disbelief. "I know he sinned, but nobody deserved that."

"Oh, I'm not arguing with that," Martin answered. "Well, at least Smyth is in charge, now. Hopefully the Circle is on its way to being restored to normality with him at the helm."

"Yes," Meredith replied. "And Knight-Commander Cullen is at peace at last."

"Indeed," Martin agreed, and the two men knelt down to finish their prayers.


	10. The Games Begin

_A huge thank you to CCBug, Nithu, Shakespira, Gene Dark, Suliven and Dark-Huntress Moony for sticking with the story and for your inspiring reviews and PMs._

_I'm going to try to update the story more often from now on, but the chapters may be shorter as a result._

~x~X~x~

After a further day's travel, the black, angry spike of Kinloch Hold almost filled Ambrose's vision as it appeared to thrust out of the ground before him - a jarring sight amidst the tranquillity of the surrounding Lake Calenhad. The Knight-Lieutenant and his fellow Templars had slowed their horses to a leisurely walk as they neared the Spoiled Princess; Varel and the Wardens had long ago dismounted from theirs, the four of them talking softly so as not to be heard. As per Ser Ambrose's request, Nathaniel had relinquished his weapons to Varel before they reached the inn.

Once the horses were stabled, Ambrose and his men discussed who amongst them would take the first boat trip over to the Tower. Varel and Nathaniel stood a little apart from the rest as the older man offered a few final words of encouragement to the young Warden. Nathaniel's dismal mood seemed to have lifted a little for the time being – although he remained very quiet – and he managed a brief snort of laughter as Varel cracked a joke. As they talked, Padraig discreetly slipped into the inn, having been handed a small purse of monies by Varel.

"Warden Howe!" called Ambrose. "You and I will take the first trip, along with two of my men. The rest of you will follow when Kester returns for you."

"You had better count me in for the first trip," Varel insisted. "I'm not leaving his side."

"No. I have already planned this…" Ambrose began.

"Then rethink your plan," Varel replied firmly, fixing Ambrose with a severe look.

Ambrose sighed and approached the two men. "You will have to leave him when he is imprisoned," he said wearily. "I do not see what difference you taking the same boat as him will make."

Varel did not answer, but continued to stare at the Knight-Lieutenant, who groaned to himself and returned to his men.

"Warden Howe, Seneschal Varel," he called after a few minutes of discussion with his fellow knights, beckoning them over to the jetty. At the same moment, Padraig exited the inn, and nodded once to Varel, who returned his gesture.

"What were you doing in there?" Ambrose asked the apostate Warden.

"I'm not your prisoner, Templar," Padraig said caustically. "Just keep your mind on your job – whatever that is."

Ambrose turned away, feeling his jaw ache as he clambered aboard the small wooden boat. He was joined by Nathaniel, Varel, one of his fellow Templars, and, finally, Kester. Ambrose rolled his shoulders, feeling an urgent need to pull off his heavy plate and sink into a hot bath.

"Good to see you again, Warden," Kester said cordially as he took up his oars and got underway.

"You too, Kester," Nathaniel replied, trying to keep his tone light. "How have you been?" he asked.

"Oh, good, thank you Warden – but there's been some mighty queer happenings afoot here, I can tell you!" Kester said with enthusiasm, relishing the chance to have a conversation with someone other than a Templar. "Did you hear about what happened to Knight-Commander C…"

"Kester!" Ambrose snapped, and then, feeling ashamed at his abruptness, softened his voice. "Kindly just bear us across," he requested.

"Oh, I've heard all about it," Nathaniel replied, ignoring Ambrose. "In fact, that's why I'm here again. The Templars suspect me of murdering him."

Kester almost dropped one of his oars into the water as he gawked at Nathaniel. "Lawks!" he exclaimed. "And just how were you supposed to have done that, then?" he asked.

"Good question," Nathaniel answered dryly.

"Here, ser," Kester said, addressing Ambrose. "I may be speaking out of turn, but this here's a Grey Warden - you know, one of them what stopped us all from being eaten by a dragon! He's a good bloke, an 'all," he said with a nod to Nathaniel. "Always polite to me, he was, when he was last here, and never too high and mighty to talk to old Kester. He's no murderer. You've got the wrong man, ser."

Ambrose shifted and turned away from the rest of the men on the boat, staring at the murky water surrounding them. _Yes, I know, _he thought.

~X~

As Kester began his return trip to the Spoiled Princess, Ambrose, Nathaniel and Varel entered the Circle Tower, where they were greeted by a curious sight: two Templars waited for them in the main foyer, both of whom were completely devoid of facial hair. Almost every Templar Nathaniel had met at the Tower had a beard or moustache of some kind - Richardson, Willoughby, Smyth and Ambrose, as well as many others, sported full beards; the rest, such as Bailey and Cullen, wore a goatee. Even young Conn Ballard had a smattering of bum fluff on his upper lip.

The few Templars who were clean-shaven always retained a hint of regrowth, as well as the odd cut or nick to their face. The Templars who greeted them, however, looked as though they had never shaved in their lives; their complexions were flawless, almost feminine, giving them a soft look. Nathaniel whispered something to Varel, who nodded, as the two men walked over.

"Ser Ambrose," said one of the Templars, giving Nathaniel and Varel a curious look. "We had not expected _two _visitors. Which of you is Warden Howe?"

"Tell us your names, and we shall give ours," Varel said.

"Very well," the first Templar replied. "I am Ser Lucy, and this is my associate, Ser Talbot," he said, gesturing to his fellow knight, who remained silent.

"I am Varel, Seneschal of Vigil's Keep," the silver-haired warrior replied, having agreed with Nathaniel in advance to do most of the talking. "This is the Grey Warden, Nathaniel Howe," he said with a gesture to his left. Ser Lucy began to speak, but Varel continued talking. "According to the law of this land, an arrested man has the right to an advocate or defender until such time as he is acquitted or convicted. I am that advocate."

Ser Lucy clasped his chin and nodded. "Yes…of course…" he replied slowly.

"I am entitled to free and unlimited access to the prisoner, and if I am displeased with his accommodations or the conditions in which he is kept, you are compelled by law to improve them. I trust this will present no problems," Varel added with a quirk of an eyebrow.

"No, it will not," Ser Lucy replied in a flat drone, casting a sideways glance at Ser Talbot, who quickly departed.

"Where is Knight-Commander Smyth?" Varel demanded. "I wish to speak with him."

"The Knight-Commander is indisposed at the present time," Ser Lucy claimed. "You may speak with us."

"No, son," Varel said in a condescending tone, shaking his head. "I want to speak to the ringmaster, not the clowns."

Ambrose broke into a sudden coughing fit, leaving Nathaniel wondering if he was hiding a snigger.

Ser Lucy took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Ser Talbot and I are conducting this investigation, and will have to suffice," he said briskly. "I do not believe your Fereldan law states that you have a right to speak to anyone other than us during the course of our inquiry."

"I cannot argue with that," Varel replied, "however, as a civilian visitor to the Tower, I wish to make an appointment to see the Knight-Commander – Ser Ambrose, as his second, you can arrange that for me, can't you?"

"Erm, yes," Ambrose replied quietly.

Ser Talbot appeared in the doorway and nodded briefly to Ser Lucy, before departing again. "Warden Howe, you are required to accompany me," Ser Lucy said to Nathaniel. "Quarters have been prepared for you and your…advocate. Both your quarters will be heavily guarded, as is our right to do under _Fereldan law_."

"I need no quarters," Varel announced. "I have two other companions, who will arrive here shortly. None of us will be staying at the Tower."

"Oh?" Ser Lucy said sharply.

"We intend to make camp next to the jetty," Varel replied. "If either you, or any of your men, feel a sudden need for a breath of fresh air in the middle of the night – or feel that Warden Howe is in need of one - rest assured that we will be right outside to keep you company."

"I see," said Ser Lucy.

"And we know of all possible exits from the Tower," said Nathaniel, speaking at last, "as well as some perhaps even you are not aware of."

A harsh scraping sound issued from the back of Ser Lucy's throat as he laughed at Nathaniel's claim. "Impossible," he sneered.

Nathaniel met Ser Lucy's scoff with a fat grin. "But you forget that one of my fellow Wardens is none other than Anders Amell, who escaped from your incompetent clutches seven times."

"He would not have escaped had _I_ been here at the time," Ser Lucy said brusquely, halting and facing the Warden with his arms folded.

Nathaniel stopped and scanned Ser Lucy's face for a moment, letting his gaze wander down toward the Templar's groin, at which Nathaniel stared, tilting his head slightly; then his eyes moved back up to the knight's face, which by now had turned pink. A disconcerting smile spread across Nathaniel's face. "Do lead on," he invited.

A fleeting look of horror flashed in Ser Lucy's eyes and he immediately turned away from Nathaniel, quickening his pace as the three of them walked up a corridor.

Varel glanced at Nathaniel with a raised eyebrow. "Good to have you back, Nathaniel," he said quietly.

"So what happens now, _Lucy_?" Nathaniel called out. "What's the procedure?"

The Templar stopped and appeared to take a deep breath before turning to face them. "You will be escorted to your quarters, searched, allowed to settle in, and then we will begin questioning you," he stated.

"And I will be present for all of those questioning sessions," Varel interjected.

"As is your right," Ser Lucy answered.

"And you _will _be presenting your evidence against Warden Howe then, I take it?" Varel asked.

"We will," came the reply.

"Well, that shouldn't take long," Nathaniel snorted.

Eventually, the three men reached what were to be Nathaniel's quarters during his stay at the Tower. To reach the room, which was situated on the fourth floor, they had to walk through the Templars' quarters. Half a dozen off-duty knights sat around a table playing cards, and looked on in dismay as Ser Lucy, Varel and Nathaniel entered. A few mumbles of 'Warden Howe' could be heard, and Nathaniel nodded to the men he had befriended during his previous stay at the Tower.

The room itself was small but contained a bed, a small chest of drawers and washing facilities. There was no window. A Templar who Nathaniel recognised stood guard inside the room. Ser Lucy closed and locked the door once Nathaniel and Varel had entered.

"Well, this is much nicer than I expected," Nathaniel remarked.

"Of course it is," Varel grunted. "Ser Lucy here had a chance to warn his friend to find better accommodation, once he knew I was here."

"Strip," Ser Lucy instructed Nathaniel, ignoring the seneschal's comment.

Nathaniel shrugged his shoulders and began to remove his leather armour and belt – which held his lock picking implements - discarding them on the bed. Ser Lucy walked over and confiscated them.

"You had better look after them," Nathaniel warned.

"They will be returned to you," Ser Lucy replied. "Boots," he instructed. Nathaniel pulled off his boots and handed them over.

"Do you want my pants as well?" Nathaniel asked helpfully.

"No, that will not be necessary," Ser Lucy replied. "You will find clothing in the chest of drawers."

Nathaniel opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of plain wheaten-coloured trousers and a matching tunic. "I'm sorry, but these are not really my colour," he quipped.

"You will just have to make do," Ser Lucy replied with distaste, heading for the door as Nathaniel slipped on the drab clothing. "I shall return shortly," he said, exiting and locking the door behind him.

The Templar stationed in the room listened at the door for a moment, then approached Nathaniel with his arm outstretched. "Matthew, isn't it?" Nathaniel asked as they shook hands, and then introduced him to Varel.

Matthew nodded and returned to his previous position next to the door. "What's going on, Warden?" he whispered. "I hear you've been convicted of Cullen's murder."

"Not convicted – well, not yet, anyway," Nathaniel answered. "They're going to question me and present their so-called evidence. It'll be interesting to see what they come up with."

"Why would they suspect you?" Matthew asked.

"I've no idea," Nathaniel answered, unsure of whom he could trust. "Have _you_ heard anything about the circumstances of Cullen's death?"

"No," Matthew replied. "It was all hushed-up. All I heard was, he was found dead in his room, and then the whole of the fourth floor was closed off for two days. We all had to sleep on the third floor. Finally, Cullen's body was brought down, on Knight-Commander Smyth's insistence, and he was given a pyre. That's all I know."

"Without a body, we shall never know the true nature of his injuries," Varel mumbled.

"Knight-Commander Smyth was one of the first on the scene," said Matthew. "He'd be able to tell you exactly how Cullen died. I heard he was stabbed, but, as I said, I never saw his body, so I don't know for sure."

"I don't suppose you know where the Knight-Commander is, do you?" Varel asked. "I should very much like to speak to him."

"That's the thing," Matthew replied. "Nobody has seen him since yesterday." He shrugged his shoulders. "It's like he just vanished."

Varel and Nathaniel exchanged a grave glance. "I don't like the sound of that, Varel," said Nathaniel.

"I _can _tell you, he hasn't left the Tower," Matthew added. "Some of us got curious this morning when we didn't see him, and we've asked around. Nobody who was on main door duty saw him leave; in fact, no one left the Tower yesterday."

"No one left?" Nathaniel asked. "Is that unusual?"

"Not really," Matthew answered. "Sometimes, days can go by with no one leaving the Tower."

"What about those 'other exits'?" Varel whispered in an aside to Nathaniel. "I'll see if I can cop Kester later on when we set up camp."

"Good idea," Nathaniel said, nodding.

~x~X~x~

"The other two have arrived," Ser Talbot informed Ser Lucy as he arrived on the first floor.

"Who are they?" asked Ser Lucy.

"Mages," Talbot answered with a noxious smile.

"Are they Grey Wardens?"

"So they claim," said Talbot, lowering his voice. "Mind you…Grey Warden mages are as susceptible to possession as any other mage, so I believe."

"What about the old man?" whispered Lucy. "He is going to ruin everything."

"We'll have to tread carefully with him," said Talbot. "One incident we could explain, but two?"

"Well, think of something, and quickly," Lucy commanded. "You're supposed to be the 'clever' one, aren't you?" he spat as he entered the Knight-Commander's office, and sat at the desk.


	11. A Friend In Need

_Thank you to all of you who continue to read, review, alert and favourite._

_Anyone who recognises the name of Anders' horse gets a cookie :-)_

~x~X~x~

"You and I need to have a serious talk," Anders said to Gabby as he sat on a chair next to her bed where she lay, exhausted. "You have to start looking after yourself – not letting yourself get so stressed that you have to ask one of the Templars to drain you!"

"I had to," she said softly, turning to face him. "I could feel myself…I just felt like I was going to explode."

"I could have drained your mana for you," he said, slightly petulantly. "And I would have done it a lot more gently than the Templars do."

"But that was why I needed to go to a Templar," she explained. "It had to be done quickly…oh, Anders…" her voice trailed off and she reached out for his hand. "Don't be angry with me."

"I'm not angry…I'm concerned about you," he insisted. "You shouldn't be having your mana drained anyway, not in your condition. No one knows what effect, if any, that would have on an unborn child."

"I've never heard of it causing any problems," she answered.

"Just because you've heard, doesn't mean…" Anders took a deep breath and attempted to keep his frustration in check. "Gabby…I know you've got a lot to worry about at the moment, and I know you're upset about what happened with Cullen…" he paused and cast a surreptitious glance at her. "That's what it is, isn't it? What Cullen said to you? That's why you're so upset."

Gabby released a deep sigh and closed her eyes as Anders stroked her hand.

"Maybe-maybe you'd better have it out with him," Anders reluctantly suggested.

"You think I should visit him?" she asked, opening her eyes to look at him.

Anders nodded. "It's just going to eat away at you until you do."

"Maybe you're right," she conceded. "But…not just now. I-I just can't face it at the moment."

Anders rose from the chair and sat on the edge of her bed, still holding her hand. "Let me take some of the load from you," he offered. "You're taking on too much in an attempt to forget about the King and Cullen. I know I'm no Varel, but…"

"You're doing a wonderful job, _second_," she said with a fond smile, which Anders returned. "I saw the look on your face earlier when I called you that," she chuckled.

"To tell you the truth, I just imagined the look on Nate's face when I tell him I've been promoted," he replied, with a mischievous look.

Gabby laughed softly, and closed her eyes again, feeling the morning sun warm her face as it streamed through the window.

Anders's stomach knotted as he looked down upon his elven friend – no, his wife-to-be. She looked so tiny, so vulnerable, and so delicate. The sun on her face only highlighted how pale her skin was. He glanced down at his hand, which held hers, and the contrast between his healthy olive skin and her alabaster tone was striking. He glanced back up at her, and noticed that her breathing had slowed. He watched her for a few moments, scanning every contour of her finely-chiselled face, her button nose, and her lips.

_It would be so easy just to…_

"Are you asleep?" he whispered. When she made no reply, he swallowed hard and leaned down, releasing her hand, and moving his to her flame-red hair, brushing an errant lock off her cheek. He hovered close to her face, feeling the warmth of her breath against his, and closed his eyes.

Moving upward slightly, he planted a gentle kiss on her forehead, and quietly stood up. "Sweet dreams, Gabby," he said softly, watching her for a moment longer, before leaving.

~x~X~x~

A refreshed Gabby arrived in the dining hall just after dinner, and approached Anders, who stood fidgeting with his robe as he looked out of a window.

"Hey," she said softly, slipping her arm around his.

"Hey, yourself! How are you feeling?" he asked, watching her carefully.

"A lot better, Dr. Anders," she said with a bright smile.

"The _love _Doctor, remember?" he corrected her.

"Oh, yes," she answered solemnly. "My apologies. So, what has the 'love doctor' been up to, then?"

"Well, the Lovells are settled in, I've finished those requisitions and filed them away, the stable roof is being re-thatched right now, and I've written all of the invitations to next month's meeting of the nobles. You just have to sign them," he said.

Gabby's smile widened. "You really _do _want Nate's job, don't you?" she asked with obvious pride in her voice.

"Not just his, but Varel's too," he replied with a wink.

"You can have mine, if you want," Gabby offered without a hint of irony.

"No thanks," he muttered.

"Well, when Nate gets back, we'll have to see about splitting your responsibilities," she said. "You've taken to it like a duck to water."

"Really?" he chirped, his eyes lighting up.

"Oh, yes," she answered. "Nate will appreciate the extra time, anyway. He'll be able to see more of Adela, and will be able to devote more time to training the archers." She sighed and shook her head. "_If_ he comes back, that is…"

"Of course he'll come back," Anders said seriously. "It'll take more than a few poxy Templars to get the better of Nathaniel Howe!"

"You miss him, don't you?" she asked softly.

"That pompous git? Not a chance," he replied, not altogether convincingly.

Gabby squeezed his arm and rested her head on his shoulder, the two of them sharing a comfortable silence as they observed the activity in the Vigil's courtyard.

"I, erm…I was thinking of popping into Amaranthine," Anders said after a few minutes. "If you can do without me, that is, what with me being indispensable and everything."

"Of course!" she replied. "Even my second is allowed some time off. Do you want some company?" she offered.

"Erm…yes, if you like – that would be nice," he said.

Taking the hint, Gabby feigned a yawn. "Actually, I think I should take it easy for the rest of the day."

"Are you sure?" he asked, feeling a little guilty.

"Yes, quite sure," she said, releasing his arm. "Anyone I know?" she whispered.

"Eh? What do you mean?" he spluttered, feeling his cheeks redden.

Gabby laughed at his reaction. "I know you better than you know yourself," she said, standing on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Have fun," she trilled as she headed toward her office. "And have one for me!"

"Yes, I _will_ have a _drink _for you," he called back.

"Oh, one of those, too," she answered as she closed her door.

Anders cursed under his breath and headed out to the stables, where he found his horse, Zephyr, a bay-coloured mare – the only horse at Vigil's Keep that would not suffer being saddled or reined, and would allow Anders, and no other, to ride her.

"Hello, sweetheart," Anders said softly, stroking her head. "How'd you fancy a trip into Amaranthine, and we'll get you some of that nice salt lick you like so much, eh?"

Zephyr nudged him with her nose, and Anders called two of the stable boys over to help him mount her.

If Zephyr could understand human language, she would know most of Anders' secrets, as he often talked to her in the stables, or on the road. He enjoyed confiding in her; unlike another person, she never judged him, or told him what he should do, but just listened. As they headed for the city, he began to tell her what was on his mind.

"This is just a stupid infatuation," he began. "I've had them before. She loves him, and I'm like a brother to her. End of story," he said firmly, then sighed. "I don't know what I was thinking, asking her to marry me. I'd like to say I did it to help her out, but I didn't," he said, getting angry with himself. "I did it for selfish reasons. I thought that maybe she'd get all sentimental and misty-eyed, and that maybe…maybe she'd fall in love with me. What an idiot I am!"

The two rode on in silence for a while. Although Zephyr could not understand Anders' words, she knew that she would hear his voice again shortly, from the rising tension in his body.

"This is not like me," he said resolutely. "I need to get my leg over, that's all. It's been months…_months!_ That'll put me straight. I wonder who's working today?"

Silence fell again until they neared Amaranthine. "I mean, she didn't even care, Zephyr," he moaned. "She knew exactly what I was up to, and she didn't care. But why should she? I'm just a friend to her. This needs to stop, right now, before I say or do something..." He paused and thought for a moment. "I know…I know who'll be around…"

He entered the city, and stabled Zephyr – leaving her some of the salt lick she loved – before heading to the public baths, where he would be sure to find Ellen, a red-haired elven prostitute.

~x~X~x~

"Someone's coming," whispered Matthew as he listened through a crack in the door. "I can hear scraping – I think they're bringing a table and chairs."

The young knight moved clear of the door and stood next to Nathaniel. "Are you still recruiting, Warden?" he asked quickly.

"Erm, possibly, but now's not really the…" Nathaniel began.

"Things are unbearable here," Matthew interrupted, glancing nervously at the door. "I thought it was bad when Cullen was in charge, but now…"

"What do you mean?" Nathaniel asked.

Matthew did not get a chance to answer; the door was unlocked and pushed open, and a wooden table and four chairs were brought in by Lucy and Talbot.

"Dismissed," Lucy said to Matthew, who bowed before the senior Templar and walked toward the door, silently mouthing 'Maker watch over you' to Nathaniel before he left.

The Templars arranged the table and chairs, and Lucy bid Varel and Nathaniel to sit as Talbot locked the door, and then joined the others, placing several documents in front of Lucy as he sat. Talbot then took up his quill and prepared to make notes.

"Nathaniel Howe, you have been brought here to answer the charge of murder most foul, perpetrated upon a high-ranking knight of the Chantry, namely the former Knight-Commander of this Tower, Ser Cullen," said Lucy as Talbot began to write. Nathaniel lounged back in his chair with his arms folded, looking utterly bored; Varel watched every move the two knights made, his eyes darting from one to the other like a hungry dog watching food travel from plate to its master's mouth.

"Let it be entered into the record that Nathaniel Howe's representative, Varel, is also present," Ser Lucy added. "Now, I will present the evidence against the prisoner."

"Finally," Nathaniel said, his lip curling in a derisive sneer. "Let's see what you've got."

Ser Lucy read through a few of his notes and began. "Not three weeks ago you arrived at the Tower with…Warden-Commander…_Surana_, correct?" he asked, to which Nathaniel nodded. "On the very same night you arrived, you were seen on the fourth floor acting in a suspicious manner. Would you care to explain your presence there?"

"Certainly," Nathaniel answered. "I make no secret of my reasons for being on the fourth floor. Commander Surana had heard from several sources that Knight-Commander Cullen had been gravely injured, and was concerned for him. I took a trip up to the fourth floor to ascertain his condition."

"Why did you not simply ask someone of his condition?" Lucy countered.

"We _did_," Nathaniel replied. "We heard different versions from different people – it was all speculation. Nobody really knew what had happened, but they all agreed that he had been so seriously injured he had required the services of a healer. We even heard accounts that he had attempted suicide. As nobody would give us a straight answer, I sought the truth to put my Commander's mind at rest."

"Why would your Commander – a mage – be so concerned over the welfare of a Templar?" Lucy asked.

"Not all mages hate Templars, and vice versa," Nathaniel said. "Knight-Commander Cullen and Commander Surana were friends before Uldred's revolt."

"Your Commander came from the Circle Tower?" Lucy asked, surprised.

"Yes," Nathaniel answered. "She served her apprenticeship here. Were you not aware of that, _Lucy_?"

Ser Lucy's left eye twitched as he turned toward Talbot. "Put that in the record," he murmured. Turning back to face Nathaniel, he resumed his questioning. "What did you find upon entering Knight-Commander Cullen's quarters?"

"I did not enter his quarters," Nathaniel answered.

"Well, we have two witnesses who say you did," Ser Talbot said.

"You must be joking!" Nathaniel exclaimed with a mocking laugh. "I didn't get anywhere near his quarters!"

"If Warden Howe did enter the Knight-Commander's quarters, why was he not apprehended?" Varel asked pointedly.

"Because Warden Howe employed a concealment technique," Lucy responded. "The men were afraid to approach him, as they believed him to be a supernatural being."

At this, Varel and Nathaniel burst into uncontrollable laughter. Lucy and Talbot waited, grim-faced, for them to compose themselves. "O, mighty knights of the Chantry!" Nathaniel mocked. "As I've always said, you lot are only good for skewering drained mages. Anything more threatening makes you brown your smallclothes and blubber."

"Shall we get on with it?" Lucy snapped, his eye twitching noticeably.

"Please do," Nathaniel answered. "Just who are these 'witnesses'?"

"They are reluctant to come forward, afraid of invoking the wrath of the Grey Wardens," Lucy replied.

"Preposterous!" Varel exclaimed. "Without their testimony, your claims are contemptible and are not admissible as evidence. Tell your _secretary _to strike them from the records."

Ser Talbot glanced up from his writing. "We will produce the witnesses," he said calmly.

"Who are they?" asked Nathaniel. "The Maker and his bride, perhaps?"

Ser Lucy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "The next item," he began, "concerns your relationship with Knight-Commander Cullen."

"There was no relationship," Nathaniel said.

"Oh, but there was, Warden," Lucy answered with a glint in his eye, "and this is where it gets interesting. Only a day after your arrival here, you challenged the deceased to a duel."

"This is completely irrelevant," Varel interjected. "A duel is fought according to strict rules, and once honour has been satisfied, the matter is considered closed by both parties. This has no bearing on the investigation whatsoever."

"I disagree," said Lucy. "The duel may have been the starting point of ill feeling between the two men. Warden Howe, why did you challenge the Knight-Commander to a duel?"

"Irrelevant," Varel barked.

"It's all right," Nathaniel said to Varel. "They already know, so we may as well humour them. They're trying to catch me out, but they won't succeed, as I have the truth on my side. Knight-Commander Cullen implied that Commander Surana was a woman of loose morals," he said to Lucy. "As she is a close friend of mine, it was my right to demand satisfaction."

"How close a friend is she of yours?" Lucy asked.

"Irrelevant," Varel repeated, "and none of your business. He's trying to goad you, Nathaniel. Don't fall for it."

"Yes, I know," Nathaniel answered with an amused grin. "Is this really the best you can do?" he said to Lucy.

"Answer the question," Lucy demanded.

"I will not," Nathaniel insisted.

"Warden Howe has refused to answer a question," Lucy said to Talbot.

"You will record exactly which question he has refused to answer," Varel said to Talbot, watching him as he wrote.

"Did you wound Knight-Commander Cullen during the duel?" Lucy continued.

"Yes, I caused an injury to his belly."

"And how did the duel end? Was blood drawn?"

"No – Cullen offered an apology, which I accepted. That was the end of the matter."

"Really?" Lucy asked, raising his eyebrows. "Then how do you explain the fact you were heard by several witnesses threatening Knight-Commander Cullen only two days later?"

"Several witnesses?" Nathaniel asked with a snort. "I'd like to know where they came from, as no one was around at the time."

"Ah! So you do not deny making threats against the Knight-Commander, then?" Lucy asked triumphantly.

"No, why should I?" Nathaniel answered with a shrug. "I had good reason to threaten him."

Lucy watched Nathaniel for a moment, feeling somewhat disconcerted that the Warden had not reacted strongly to any of his questions.

"Is there something wrong with you?" Nathaniel asked as Lucy's eye twitched again.

"What? What do you mean?" Lucy asked.

"Well, you keep winking at me," Nathaniel answered. "I mean, I'm flattered, but I don't think we know each other well enough for _that_."

A deep rumble of laughter came from Varel as Lucy turned to Talbot. "Winking? "I'm not…winking…am I?"

"No," Talbot answered aridly. "Let's proceed."

"Yes…" Lucy mumbled, attempting to find his train of thought. "What exactly did you say to Knight-Commander Cullen?" he asked.

"Exactly? I don't know, but it was something along the lines of: 'if I discover you were the one who entered Commander Surana's bedroom in the middle of the night, I shall wipe you from the face of Ferelden. Or was it Thedas? I forget."

"He entered Commander Surana's _bedroom_?" Lucy asked doubtfully.

"Oh – something else you weren't aware of, _Lucy_?" Nathaniel mocked, causing his interrogator's eye to twitch once more.

"What was he doing in her bedroom?" Lucy asked, feeling his face grow hot.

"Does it matter? No man has a right to be in a female's bedroom without her leave, except her husband. At the time, I believed he meant to cause her harm."

"And why would he do that?"

"Because he was not of sound mind, and Commander Surana's presence at the Tower disturbed him greatly."

"Why would her presence disturb him?"

"Because he believed he was in love with her, and he had been assaulted by a demon that assumed her form."

"Assaulted?"

"Assaulted," Nathaniel repeated, giving Lucy a look that made his words clear.

"For the record, Warden Howe," said Lucy. "What are we talking about, here?"

"Rape," Nathaniel answered.

The four men sat in silence for a moment as Talbot continued to write. "How do you know this, Warden?" Lucy asked.

"Cullen told Commander Surana of his experience at the hands of the demon, and she told me," he answered.

"So we only have your word for this?" Lucy asked.

"No. Knight-Commander Smyth is also aware of what happened. He will vouch for the validity of my testimony."

"When are we going to see Knight-Commander Smyth, by the way?" Varel prodded. "It seems he has just become a witness, and by law we must hear his testimony."

The Templars exchanged glances. "All witnesses able to testify will be presented to you shortly," Lucy announced as he and Talbot stood up. "I believe a short break is in order."

"Tea, two sugars, please," Nathaniel quipped.

"Refreshments will be provided," Lucy said stiffly as he and Talbot exited the room, ushered Matthew inside, and firmly locked the door.

Nathaniel's mask of self-assuredness disappeared as soon as the door closed. "_Able_ to testify?" he whispered to Varel. "Does that mean Smyth is unable? Why? Where is he?"

Varel rose to his feet. "Padraig and Chauncey are setting up camp outside. I'll make an excuse to speak to them, and I'll see if Kester has anything to say."

"Yes, please do," Nathaniel replied. "This is…this is troubling," he said quietly, staring at his hands.

Varel slapped the younger man's shoulder. "I'll be right back. Don't say a word to them without me."

"Varel…watch your back," Nathaniel warned him.

"I will – my front, too," Varel answered with a chirpiness he did not feel.

Nathaniel nodded and watched Varel as Matthew let him out of the room, locking the door behind him.

~x~X~x~

Anders returned to the stables a sovereign lighter after paying for Ellen's services, and for a room at the Crown and Lion.

"How are you doing, girl?" he asked Zephyr, staring through her solid brown body as he stroked her neck. His equine friend looked up from her salt lick, almost as though asking him what had happened.

"Well, Zephyr, it didn't work," he said with a dejected shrug. "Come on – let's go home. I need a bath."


	12. The Reunion

Ser Lucy paced back and forth across Knight-Commander Smyth's office. "They're making complete fools of us," he said agitatedly. "Why did _we_ not have that information?"

"Obviously Smyth was not as forthcoming with us as we had previously thought," said Ser Talbot, who sat at the desk. "Another thing to add to the list, it would seem."

"We're going to have to explain why he's not here," said Lucy.

"We don't have to explain anything, other than that Smyth is an unreliable witness, and therefore cannot testify. We do not need to give a reason," Talbot answered.

"They'll never fall for that! These are not two newly-avowed Templars, you know; they have their heads screwed on."

"Who cares whether they fall for it or not?" asked Talbot. "Once we bring in the witnesses, Howe won't have a leg to stand on. You need to calm down."

"Calm down?" asked Lucy. "We've assumed command of the Tower without waiting for the Grand Cleric's leave…"

"Well, somebody had to," Talbot said calmly. "We can't very well leave the mages in charge, can we?"

"What about Ambrose? He would be the obvious successor to Smyth," said Lucy.

"Well, if the Grand Cleric does decide to appoint Ambrose, then that is her will," replied Talbot. "All that matters to us is that Smyth is out of the way. Get a hold of yourself, man," he said, rising to his feet. "And for Andraste's sake, stop giving Howe ammunition against you – he knows you're nervous, and will take advantage of that."

"What do you mean?" asked Lucy.

"That eye of yours – it's embarrassing," Talbot said callously, as Lucy unconsciously raised his hand to his face. "Come on – we need to find Ambrose. He has two harrowings to attend."

"Who is to be harrowed? We have no new mages," Lucy asked.

"The Warden mages – they're obviously apostates, and cannot be permitted to roam around the Tower until they are harrowed," Talbot answered. "The only reason I haven't struck them down where they stood is that they are Grey Wardens."

"Will they submit themselves to the harrowing?" Lucy asked nervously. "What if they refuse?"

"They cannot, if they wish to reside at the Tower," Talbot replied, turning to face Lucy. "You're starting to irritate me, Adrian," he said. "This was all your idea in the first place, and now you're getting cold feet? There's no backing out now; we're too far in."

"I'm not backing out," Lucy said firmly.

"Then stop acting like a whipped dog and pull yourself together," Talbot answered. "Once we've spoken to Ambrose we'll gather our witnesses – then we'll see Howe's smugness crumble to dust."

"Good," said Lucy. "The sooner this is finished, the better."

~x~X~x~

The public baths and the Crown & Lion were not the only establishments Anders had visited during his trip to Amaranthine. He entered his bedroom, locked the door, walked over to his full-length mirror and removed his robe, placing it on the back of a chair. He then unwrapped a large bundle bound in paper and string, and held up a beautiful, elegant, icy-blue robe fashioned by the finest dressmakers in Amaranthine. He slipped it over his head and smoothed it down.

"So…I've got bad taste, have I?" he asked his reflection. The robe was plain by Anders' usual standards, but he had had it made for his wedding day – whenever that was - and he had no wish to outshine his bride. He looked at himself approvingly, and admired the fine silver embroidery that adorned the robe's cuffs and hem. He opened one of his drawers and took out a fancy silver belt, and slipped it around his slim waist.

"Perfect!" he said with an ebullient nod.

A knock at his door startled him for a second. "Who's that?" he asked.

"Me," said Gabby.

"Erm…just…hang on a minute," he called out, trying to remove his robe quickly without creasing it.

"Do you want me to come back?" she asked.

"No! I'm not doing anything…erm, just give me a sec!"

"All right," she answered. "Take your time."

_Oh, great! Now she thinks I'm having a wank! _he thought irritably, carefully hanging up the new robe in his closet and shrugging on the other.

"Come in, Gabs," he said casually.

"It's locked."

"Oh, yes," he mumbled, walked over to the door and unlocked it. He opened the door and peered outside.

"Can I talk to you?" Gabby asked quietly.

"Of course you can," he said, gesturing for her to enter. Gabby walked over to his bed and sat down; Anders closed the door, wondering why she hadn't teased him for not answering the door immediately.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Gabby sighed and absent-mindedly rubbed the side of her face. "I, um…I took your advice while you were gone," she said.

"My advice?" he asked. "Erm, remind me?"

"I went to see Cullen," she replied.

Anders walked over and sat next to her on the bed. "What happened?" he asked, feeling a flicker of anger as he prepared for Gabby to become upset.

"Well…he apologised to me," she said. "He told me he had no right to judge me, and that he'd felt terrible after I'd left."

"Oh," Anders mumbled. "So…does this mean everything's back to normal?"

"Not exactly," she said in a hushed tone. "We talked, and he, um, he asked me…"

"Asked you what?"

"He asked me if we'd ever been more than friends - he said that sometimes the way I looked at him had made him wonder."

"What did you say to that, Gabs?" Anders asked with a gulp.

Gabby looked into Anders' eyes. "I-I said no," she replied.

"What? I don't understand…" Anders said. "Why-why would you say no?"

She looked away from him, her gaze turning to her hands, which lay in her lap. "I have to face facts, Anders," she said. "We still don't know why he's in the Fade, and one day I may go to see him and he may not be there. I can't allow myself to have feelings for him…well, I do, but...I won't let myself be hurt like that."

"I…I don't know what to say," Anders said softly. "How did he react to that?" he asked.

"He seemed all right with it," she said with a shrug. "I mean, he doesn't know me like I know him, does he? It was easy for him."

"Oh, Gabby," Anders whispered, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"There's something else, Anders. Something…" She shook her head. "Well, see what you think of this," she said. "I told him that I would still visit him now and again as I didn't want him to be lonely…"

"But you're not going to get over him doing that, Gabby!" Anders interrupted.

"Wait – let me finish," she said. "He told me that he wouldn't be lonely, as there were _others _there in the Fade with him."

"_Others_? What do you mean?"

"That's what he said, Anders. That there were others like him, he'd seen them, and that they all had their own domains."

"How many?" Anders asked.

"More than fifty," she replied.

Anders' mouth fell open. "Fifty people? All with their own domains, who are able to leave them and enter the domains of others?" he asked. "How is that possible?"

"It's not," Gabby said gravely.

"Could he be lying?"

"I don't see why he would," she replied. "Anders…he said that he'd bring them all over to his domain and show me. I said I'd go back this evening."

"It's nearly evening now," he said, looking out of the window. "I'm coming with you."

"Well, of course," she said with a soft laugh. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"Shall we go now? I want to know what's going on," Anders said.

"Yes," she replied as they both stood up. "We need to go somewhere we won't be disturbed."

"Erm…how about the basement?" Anders suggested. "It's safe, now, and no one goes down there anymore."

"Good idea, second-in-command," she said cheerily, giving his arm a squeeze.

Anders, easily seeing through her façade, took her hand. "I'm worried too, Gabs," he said. "Come on; let's see what's going on."

~x~X~x~

Varel returned to Nathaniel's room after what had seemed like an hour, but in fact had been less than twenty minutes. Matthew let the seneschal in, Varel's grim expression as he entered doing nothing to reassure Nathaniel.

"Matthew, I'd like to speak to Warden Howe alone," he said to the Templar guard.

"I'm terribly sorry, ser, but I have to remain here," Matthew answered. "I swear that anything you say will not leave this room."

"It's all right, Varel – we can trust him," said Nathaniel. "What did you find out?"

Varel glanced at Matthew and nodded, taking a seat. "The news is not good, Nathaniel," Varel said quietly. "At first, Kester told me he had seen no one leave the Tower for two days, but he seemed nervous when he answered. I pressed him, and told him that any information he could provide would help you – he said he wanted to help, but was unable. As I walked away, he called me back and made me swear that if he did tell me, I would not mention his name."

"And?" asked Nathaniel.

"Kester told me that very early yesterday morn – before the sun rose – he was awoken and told to bear three Templars and a mage across the lake. He did not see the Templars' faces, as they all wore helms. He said they were all very quiet, and that the mage looked frightened." Varel sighed and took a gulp of the tea that had been brought in for them. "Nathaniel – Kester said that as he rowed them across, he noticed that one of the Templar's hands were bound."

Nathaniel's fingers drummed noisily on the table. "Could it have been Smyth?" he asked.

"That's what I asked him," said Varel. "He said the man's build was about right for Smyth, but that's not really proof. Kester said the bound man did not speak once, and appeared…sedated."

"That explains the mage's presence, then," Nathaniel said heavily.

"Knight-Commander Smyth was taken from the Tower?" Matthew interrupted.

"We don't know that for certain," Nathaniel answered.

"You must keep your promise to us, Matthew," said Varel. "For this to become common knowledge would be harmful – not least of all to Kester."

"Oh, of course," Matthew said shakily. "I-I was just surprised, that's all. I won't say a thing, I swear."

"Matthew," said Nathaniel. "Tell Varel what you told me."

Matthew quickly unlocked the door and peered around outside, before closing and locking it again. "Ser," he said to Varel, "those two – Lucy and Talbot – have been going around asking..._telling_ my fellows to testify against Warden Howe."

"What?" Varel growled.

"Let him finish," said Nathaniel.

"They approached me," Matthew continued, "but I refused. They threatened me, but I told them I didn't care what they did to me. Some of the other Templars, though, have family, or have committed… _indiscretions_ that Lucy and Talbot threatened to reveal."

"The bastards," Varel muttered.

"Most of us refused, and two of those who did have disappeared," Matthew said with fear in his eyes. "I-I'm wondering what's going to happen to me."

"You needn't worry about that, son," Varel told the young knight. "You have the law on your side."

"They don't care about the law!" Matthew exclaimed. "They're…well, they're not like the rest of us…" he mumbled, afraid of saying too much.

"We know who they are," said Nathaniel. "They work for the Grand Cleric, don't they?"

"How did you…" Matthew began.

"We know a lot more than they think we do," Nathaniel replied. "However, there is still much we do _not_ know. If we have any hope of foiling them, we need as much information as possible."

Varel leaned across and whispered something in Nathaniel's ear. The black-haired Warden glanced at him and nodded slowly. "Perhaps…" Nathaniel said thoughtfully.

"Matthew," said Varel. "Did Lucy and Talbot persuade many of the Templars to comply with them?"

"I'm sure they must have convinced a few," Matthew answered, "particularly those with something to hide."

"Very well," said Varel. "We will wait for Lucy and Talbot to return."

They did not have to wait long for Nathaniel's interrogators to arrive. Lucy and Talbot dismissed Matthew and took their seats.

Varel spoke before they had a chance to. "Nathaniel will not say another word to you until we have spoken with Knight-Commander Smyth. Where is he?" he demanded.

"Knight-Commander Smyth will not be appearing as a witness," said Talbot.

"There'd better be a good reason for this," said Varel.

"The Knight-Commander is not fit to appear as a witness," Talbot replied. "That is all you need to know. We are not obliged to offer any further explanation."

Varel grabbed Nathaniel's wrist as he felt the Warden spring forward in his chair. "Then we will speak to his second, Knight-Lieutenant Ambrose," Varel said firmly.

"Knight-Lieutenant Ambrose is not a witness in this investigation…" Ser Lucy began.

"He can appear as a character witness for Warden Howe," Varel interrupted. "And don't tell me _he _is not fit to appear – I saw him on my way back up here. Now go and fetch him!"

"You are in no position to demand anything!" Lucy bit back, his eye twitching as he spoke.

"Listen _boy_," Varel said as he rose to his feet and leaned across the table. "I've dealt with your kind before. You get a taste of power and it goes to your head. You _will _fetch Ambrose, and, if you refuse, I am calling a halt to these shambolic proceedings right now."

"You have no right to do that," Talbot answered calmly.

"We'll fight our way out, if we have to," Varel threatened.

"Really?" Talbot said, raising his eyebrows in amusement. "The two of you against an entire Tower full of Templars? I'd like to see that."

"Something tells me the Templars in this tower are not exactly in love with the two of you," Varel answered, grasping the hilt of his sword. "We'll take our chances."

"And would your Warden-Commander approve of your actions, which would incur the wrath of the Chantry?" Talbot asked.

"Without hesitation," Nathaniel answered coolly.

Varel sat back down on his chair. "Now fetch Ambrose – at once!" he commanded.

Lucy and Talbot exchanged glances, and huddled together, whispering. "You may speak to Ambrose for five minutes, with us present," Talbot offered.

"We will speak to him for as long as we wish," Varel countered, "and your presence is not required, nor desired. Ambrose is a knight of the Chantry and will suffice as a guard. Now stop piss-arsing around, and fetch him. My patience is at an end."

A brief flicker of anger glinted in Talbot's eyes. "Go and fetch him," he said to Lucy.

~x~X~x~

After informing Oghren that they would be gone for a couple of hours, and ignoring the dwarf's raised eyebrow and knowing wink, Gabby and Anders found a secluded spot in the basement and sat together on the floor against a wall. "Are you sure your sleep spell's up to this?" Anders asked.

"My sleep spell's better than yours," she boasted. "You forget – I'm a hexer, not some namby-pamby healer."

"Ouch!" Anders replied with a chuckle, wrapping his arms around her. "Come closer," he whispered seductively, with a cheeky grin.

"Now, don't get any ideas," she teased.

"Perish the thought," he replied. "Ready? On three."

"Ready," she replied.

Anders began counting. "One, two, three…"

As a soft white light illuminated the basement, they fell limp and slumped against each other.

The two mages approached the silver and white pedestal that appeared in front of them. "This is it," she said, taking Anders' hand and moving it closer, so they both touched the pedestal at the same time.

They materialised in a barren, rocky place, which was contained by high, insurmountable walls in the near distance.

"This isn't Cullen's domain," Gabby said with a frown. "This is the raw Fade…what…?"

"Look!" Anders whispered, pointing ahead. Looking around, they saw several people in a scattered group not far from them. All of them wore the same plain, non-descript clothing that Cullen had upon first entering the Fade.

Cullen approached them, casting a curious look at Anders. "Brought a friend, have you?" he asked Gabby.

"This is Anders," she said in introduction. "My husband-to-be."

"Oh, yes," Cullen replied, with a polite nod to Anders.

"It's good to see you again, Cullen," Anders said, a little sadly.

"Do you know me?" Cullen asked him.

"I, um…I used to," Anders mumbled. "You look good."

"I'm, erm, I'm sorry," Cullen said, "but I don't remember you."

"That's all right," he answered. "Cullen – who are all of these people?"

"I don't know," Cullen replied. "I think they're the same as me – they arrived here with little or no memory of their past lives. Wait there – I'll bring a couple over to talk to you," he said, walking away from the mages.

"Anders…" Gabby hissed, grabbing Anders' arm and taking a step back.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked.

"Look at them, Anders!" she said with a note of panic in her voice.

"I _have_ looked at them," he answered.

"Look at their faces! Look closely!"

"All right," he said, looking back at the group for a moment. "Hey – that's…!" he began, and then was struck silent, his mouth hanging open as he scanned the rest of the group. "What?" he spluttered. "Gabby? What is going on here?"

Both mages stood transfixed, frightened and utterly confused as they continued to look at the group. Before them stood every mage, apprentice and Templar who had been lost during Uldred's revolt at the Circle Tower.


	13. The Parting

_Thank you to all of you who continue to follow the story, alert and review. Special thanks to Nithu, Shakespira and CCBug for your encouragement, and to Little Miss Cuteness - your PMs made my day!_

_We'll catch up on the goings-on at the Tower in the next chapter :-)  
_

~x~X~x~_  
_

Cullen walked over with two women, whom Gabby and Anders recognised as Matilda and Eleanor, mages they had both known from a young age. Matilda and Gabby had taken their harrowing on the same day, had been assigned quarters next to each other, and had become good friends. Gabby didn't know Eleanor as well – although they got on well – but Anders knew her; in fact he'd known her intimately – several times - during their residence at the Tower.

"This is the lady I told you about," Cullen said to Matilda and Eleanor. "She is able to visit me here, and has brought her friend along, as well."

"Do you have any idea of what we are doing here?" asked Eleanor, looking directly at Anders.

Gabby and Anders exchanged a quick glance, and shook their heads silently, unable to look her in the eye. Anders nervously licked his lips and cleared his throat. "I, um…sorry. This is a surprise to us, as well."

Matilda took a step forward; Gabby and Anders took a step away from her. "You know us, don't you?" she asked softly, seeing that they were frightened. "Cullen said you might."

"Yes," said Gabby, still unable to look at the two women. "We…we were friends, once."

Gabby shuddered as she remembered finding Matilda's charred body in her quarters when she and Alistair had scoured the Tower in search of abominations. She ventured a glance at her dear friend; her face was no longer ruined and blackened by fire, and her hair – which had all but disintegrated when Gabby had found her – tumbled loosely down her shoulders in soft chestnut curls. She was perfect.

"E-excuse me for a moment," said Gabby, turning her back on the small group, and walking away to stand at the edge of a precipice. Anders also turned away a little, shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked a few pebbles around.

"Go back to the others," Cullen whispered to Matilda and Eleanor. "This must be very difficult for them."

The two women departed, leaving Cullen alone as Anders joined Gabby. Cullen watched the two mages as they talked quietly, feeling wretched to have caused them such distress, but he had had no idea that Gabby, or Anders, knew any of his new companions.

Cullen watched in dismay as Gabby's shoulders start to shake, and, as Anders slipped an arm around her shoulder, Cullen scratched his arm, feeling itchy all of a sudden. He then realised that his skin wasn't itching, but tingling; the sensation travelled down his body, causing him to tremble slightly.

"What _is _that?" one of the men in the large group called out, and headed over to Cullen, followed by several other men.

"You can feel it too?" Cullen asked them.

"Yes…my skin feels…funny," one of the other men replied.

Anders could hear what was being said, and turned around to see more than a dozen men standing around Cullen, all of whom were touching their arms, faces or hands in consternation.

"Gabby!" he whispered. "You need to calm down – the Templars can sense you!"

Gabby turned around, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, just in time to hear one of the men gasp as his hands started to glow.

"Gabby!" Anders urged. She immediately closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, exhaling slowly each time. After a few moments, the group of men had stopped touching and examining their skin, but looked just as frightened as Gabby and Anders had been moments ago – with the exception of Cullen, who watched Gabby very carefully as he approached her.

"Did you have something to do with that?" he asked her.

"Not on purpose, no!" Anders answered before she had a chance.

"I'm not implying it was done on purpose," said Cullen, "but you told me you had powers that I could detect. That's what just happened, isn't it? Those men – they're all the same as me, aren't they? Special knights, I remember you saying."

Gabby nodded and looked over to the main group.

"What about them?" asked Cullen. "Why didn't they sense anything?"

"They probably did," Gabby replied, "but to them it wouldn't have felt so…" she shrugged and looked at Anders.

"Uncomfortable," he finished for her. "They're the same as us."

"Anders," Gabby said heavily, "we're going to have to tell them all, about their powers, I mean, aren't we?"

"Yes, I suppose we'll have to," he said with a deep sigh. "They need to be aware of the dangers."

"Dangers? What do you mean?" asked Cullen.

"How much have you told him?" Anders asked Gabby.

"That I have a connection to the Fade, and that it would be unwise for me to use my powers here without a good reason – that's about it."

Anders looked around to make sure no one else was within earshot. "Gabby and I, and the people over there," he said, pointing to the larger group of people, "are known as mages. We are born with special powers, which become apparent when we're quite young." He sighed and his lips twisted sourly. "There's a religious order in our world known as the Chantry. They believe mages are evil, and need to be locked away from everyone else in decent society…"

Gabby touched his arm and he sighed again. "I suppose this isn't the right time for that," he conceded. "Anyway, the Chantry employs Templars, who are specially trained to negate mages' powers. Basically, we're all shut up together in a huge tower, where the mages hone their skills under the watchful eyes of the Templars. You're a Templar, Cullen – well, you were."

Cullen thought for a moment and nodded. "You said that people think mages are dangerous – why is that?" he asked.

"Mages exist partially in the Fade – this place," said Gabby. "That is how we are able to visit you. Even during waking hours, we maintain our connection to this place. The Fade is populated by spirits, some of which are benevolent and rarely show themselves; they have no wish to cross the Veil and interfere with mortals."

"The Veil?" Cullen asked.

"It's the barrier between the mortal world and the Fade," Gabby explained.

"Where is it?" Cullen asked, looking around.

"It can't be seen," Anders answered. "Some people question whether it exists at all; I suppose it's more of a metaphor than anything."

Cullen nodded. "So a spirit from the Fade could cross the Veil and enter the mortal realm?"

"Yes, but not easily," Gabby replied with an anxious look at Anders. "The spirit would need to inhabit the body of a mortal to do that."

Cullen was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he absorbed Gabby's words. "So…these spirits could inhabit you?" he asked; Gabby and Anders nodded.

"But I thought you said the spirits had no interest in crossing the Veil," said Cullen.

"No, she said that the _benevolent_ spirits have no interest in crossing the Veil," Anders answered. "Not all spirits of the Fade are benevolent."

Cullen folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow. "Go on," he said in a clipped tone.

Anders frowned, not liking the change in Cullen's demeanour. "There are evil spirits we call demons," he said. "They are drawn to mages when we use our powers, or when we are emotionally disturbed."

"Some types of mages are more at risk of possession than others," Gabby added. "Anders is a healer – they are able to control their powers and keep their concentration much better than other mages. It's virtually unheard of for a healer to be possessed by a demon, and they always pass their harrowings."

"What's a harrowing?" asked Cullen.

"To become a full mage, we must undergo a trial whereby a demon is put inside us and we are tested to see if we can resist it," Gabby explained. "You were at my harrowing, Cullen."

"For what purpose?" he asked.

Gabby groaned and massaged the back of her neck. "If I had been unable to resist the demon, it would have been your duty to slay me, to prevent the demon from crossing the Veil."

Cullen stared at Gabby for a moment, not quite sure what to say. "How-how did the two of us become friends, then, if it was my duty to kill you?" he asked with an anxious look.

Gabby closed her eyes and sighed. "I know you didn't enjoy harrowings," she replied. "It was your duty and I didn't hold it against you. Besides, a harrowing isn't a daily occurrence for a mage. It only needs to be done once."

"You hold it against me though, don't you?" Cullen asked Anders. "I can tell by the look on your face."

"Gabby and I differ in our opinions on this matter," Anders answered pithily.

"You're not a healer," Cullen said to Gabby. "You told me that you have the power to cause damage to people. Are you at risk of being inhabited by one of these beings?"

"I'm an entropic mage," she answered. "We have the poorest control of our magic and emotions, and therefore are at the highest risk of being possessed."

"So that is why you were so anxious to calm her down!" Cullen exclaimed, taking a step back. "Are you saying she could have been…"

"_She _has a name!" Anders snapped. "It was very unlikely that anything like that would have happened – we just didn't want to take any chances!"

"You didn't tell me any of this before!" Cullen said angrily to Gabby.

"Cullen – we're trying to explain to you…" she began.

"How many people here are at risk of being inhabited by a demon?" Cullen demanded.

"Once a Templar, _always _a Templar!" Anders bit out. "You people make me _sick_. We're trying to warn you, and figure out what you're doing here, and all you can think about…"

"I have a right to know!" Cullen interrupted. "How many of these people are at risk of being possessed?"

"None of them, you fucking idiot!" Anders spat. "You're all spirits! You can't be possessed – in fact, you are the ones who could possess_ us_!"

"What?" Cullen asked doubtfully.

"That's right," Anders sneered. "How ironic – a Templar becomes a spirit who could inhabit a mage and become an abomination! Maybe another Templar would have to slay _you!_" He started to laugh, and then noticed that Gabby didn't share his amusement; she was staring at the main group of people, lost in thought.

"We need to know what they're all doing here," she said quietly. "I've never heard of anything like this happening before."

Anders took her arm and led her away from Cullen, glaring at the Templar the whole time. "You know, what we really need to do," he said to her, "is consult the First Enchanter, but you said there isn't one anymore."

"Maybe there is, now," she answered. "I know that Cullen wrote to several of the other Circles of Magi asking for someone suitable."

"We're stuck anyway, until Nate and Varel get back," he said.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, one of us needs to stay at the Keep, unless we put Oghren in charge – I'm sure he'd be fine, but if one of those nobles shows up wanting something, he'll tell them to piss off."

"That's true," Gabby agreed.

"And I'm not prepared to leave you alone to run the Keep," he continued, "nor am I willing to let you travel to the Tower, not in your condition."

"Anders, I'm not even showing yet!" she protested, pulling her robe tightly over her belly to prove her point.

"Erm, Gabby…" Anders said, placing his hand over her belly, which protruded slightly.

Gabby looked down, then back up at Anders. "I think I've just put a bit of weight on," she said. "I noticed that my belly was getting a bit round."

Anders shook his head. "No…that's not fat. Feel it – it's solid," he instructed, taking her hand and pressing it against her middle.

"But-but you said I was only about six weeks gone," she mumbled. "Well...seven, now."

"I could have been off," he answered with a shrug. "I told you, some healers are better at detecting unborn children than others."

"Well, how far along do you think I am?" she asked.

"I'd say you're just starting your second trimester," he answered with a grin. "Didn't you notice that your monthlies had stopped?"

"They're very irregular since I became a Warden," she answered. "During the blight I went for almost 5 months without having one. I was delighted," she added with a smile.

"You haven't had any sickness?" he asked.

"No, but I've been weepy and irritable," she said, looking up at him. "Is that normal?"

"It is," he replied, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You know…your face looks a little rounder, too."

"Oh, don't say that, Anders," she moaned, looking down at her belly again.

"No…it suits you, actually," he said softly, suddenly intently focused on her mouth.

"What's the matter?" she asked, touching her lips. "You're staring at my mouth."

"Oh…nothing, just daydreaming," he replied, turning around to see what Cullen was up to; the former Templar stood a short distance away, watching them.

"Gabs, I don't want you coming here anymore," he said seriously. "These men are still Templars, and it doesn't matter to them that we're Grey Wardens. They won't even know what Grey Wardens are. And with you being, well…emotional at times, I don't want you to endanger yourself, or Carlin."

"Carlin?" she asked, puzzled.

Anders placed his palm on her belly. "Your son," he said. "You did say I could choose his name."

Gabby bit her bottom lip and her eyes crinkled as she looked into Anders' eyes. "Carlin," she repeated.

"What do you think? It means 'little champion,'" he stated. "I've looked it up, you know."

"I love it," she whispered.

"Good," he replied, tucking the stray strand of hair behind her ear again.

They were interrupted by the sound of Cullen very loudly clearing his throat. Anders tutted and turned around to face him. "Gabby, I don't want you coming back here," he repeated.

Gabby glanced at Cullen, who looked back at her with a hard expression on his face. He seemed different, now, and seemed to see her differently.

"I won't," she replied.

"Promise me," he said, turning back to her.

"I promise," she said solemnly. "I've never lied to you, Anders, and I never will."

Anders nodded, and took her hand, leading her over to where Cullen stood. "We're leaving, for now," said Anders. "I'll return after consulting some other mages I know – they may have some insights."

"What about you?" Cullen asked Gabby, who stared at the floor.

"Gabby won't be returning," Anders announced.

Cullen stayed silent for a moment, before nodding once and walking away from them.

"Come on," Anders said softly, leading Gabby toward the pedestal. "Are you all right?" he asked her.

Gabby shrugged her shoulders and remained silent.

_This is for the best_, thought Anders. _I'll get her through this. She deserves better than him._

"Ready?" he asked as they reached toward the pedestal.

_I'll help you through this, I swear_, he thought as they left the Fade. _I'd do anything for you._


	14. Night Falls

Ser Talbot watched irritably as Ser Lucy walked back and forth outside Nathaniel's room. "Will you stop that," he sniped. "I'm trying to listen to what they're saying, and I can't hear a blasted thing because of your boots."

Lucy stopped and cast a petulant look in Talbot's direction. "How long have they been in there, now?" he asked. "It must be getting on for half an hour."

"Ssh!" Talbot intoned, thrusting his palm into the air. "I can hear something…raised voices."

"You ask too much of me, Warden. I will not go against my brothers like that," said Ser Ambrose from within the room.

"Your brothers?" Varel replied with a mocking laugh. "Those _brothers_ of yours are a disgrace to your order! They have lied, cheated, bullied, threatened and intimidated their way through this balls-up of an investigation…"

"There is no need for coarse language, Seneschal Varel!" Ambrose said indignantly.

"I thought you were a good man!" Nathaniel yelled in a rare outburst. "I thought you were _decent_, but you're just like the rest of them, aren't you? This was a waste of time, Varel! Go on – get out of here! I hope you choke on your hollow prayers!"

"How dare you!" Ambrose bit back. "You deserve everything you get!"

Lucy and Talbot scrambled away from the door as it flew open, feigning nonchalance as Ambrose slammed it shut and stalked down the corridor in a huff.

"Good," said Talbot with a satisfied grin. "We won't need to worry about him."

"What about Varel?" asked Lucy.

"Go and assemble our witnesses," Talbot commanded. "Varel won't be able to argue against the testimony of five people, and, if he does, I have plans for him."

"You can't just make everyone disappear, Gideon!" Lucy whispered harshly.

"Why not? We'll say he attacked us, or something," Talbot drawled with a shrug.

"No! This is getting out of hand! We are going to have to explain our actions at some point!" Lucy exclaimed in panic, his breath forced out as a gasp as Talbot backed him against a wall.

"Your cowardice does not befit a knight of Andraste!" Talbot growled. "Now, get downstairs, and get those witnesses together, before I make _you_ disappear!"

"Take your hands off me!" Lucy seethed, pushing against Talbot's breastplate and breaking away from him.

"Now look what you've made me do," said Talbot, taking out a handkerchief and mopping his brow. "Well, what are you waiting for? The second coming of the Maker? The witnesses – now!"

"Get them yourself!" Lucy retaliated and turned on his heel. "I'm not your damned servant," he muttered as he walked away.

Talbot groaned to himself and waited for a few moments until he was certain the childish Lucy had departed, and then made his way down to the third floor.

Once Talbot had passed through the exit leading to the stairs, a release of breath could be heard from the shadows behind the door. Having heard every word of the exchange between the two Templars, a man emerged from his hiding place, waited until he could no longer hear Talbot's footfalls, and, with a glint of steel, and a flash of magenta, disappeared from the fourth floor.

~x~X~x~

Gabby sat on her windowsill with her knees drawn up to her chest, looking out over the courtyard as night fell. It was a clear night and the stars were out; to distract herself she tried to remember her astronomy lessons from when she was an apprentice, and attempted to identify as many constellations as she could. There was The Silver Knight, Andraste's Sword, The Herald, The Dark Moon, The Rebel King – named only seven years ago for Maric - and many others she recognised but couldn't recall the names of.

She then remembered the night she and Cullen had named the Fade constellations: silly names, most of them. The Prancing Dog, The Grinning Fool, The Cheeky Wink, The Smacked Arse, and, of course, The Burst Tomato.

She closed her eyes and sighed, letting bittersweet memories wash over her. She recalled her time as an apprentice, and the sweet and innocent friendship they'd struck up. She then remembered the first time she'd walked past Cullen and her stomach had knotted, making her finally admit to herself that she saw him as more than a friend. She remembered the way he'd spoken to her after she and Alistair had defeated Uldred, how she and Smyth had worked together to help restore his sanity, and the way he'd kissed her – the last time she'd seen him alive. She recalled how her world had crumbled around her at the news of his death, and of her joy at finding him in the fade, free of the memories and experiences that had sent him hurtling toward the voracious maw of insanity.

Then she remembered the way he'd looked at her only an hour ago. There had been no warmth, no affection in those amber eyes; only distrust, unease and revulsion. But how could he react in any other way? Fade-Cullen had never heard her sing; he had never waited in nervous anticipation for her appearance at the start of an achingly dull shift. He had never closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of mimosa and orange as she wafted past, and he had never gulped and hoped she couldn't hear his heart thumping against his chest when she stroked his cheek, and cooed in sympathy at his razor burns.

She had never made fade-Cullen blush by telling him he was the handsomest Templar in the Tower, and fade-Cullen had never asked her how she could tell, as most of the other Templars wore their helms at all times. She had never made him jump out of his boots, then giggle and glance around nervously, when she wolf-whistled at him. She had never made him balms for his aching feet. She had never picked a flower for him from the garden to 'bring the outside in' when he was unable to leave his post. She had never given him her necklace and told him her heart belonged to him. Fade-Cullen was still a Templar, whether he remembered it or not, and he opposed everything Gabby stood for, and everything she was. He had not had the experiences of mortal-Cullen, who had seen past everything the Chantry had taught him about mages, and had allowed himself to fall in love with her.

"Are you decent?" asked Anders from outside as he knocked on her door.

"Would it make any difference?" she asked in return.

"No. I'm coming in anyway," he said, opening the door. "Rats!" he exclaimed upon observing that she was indeed decent.

He walked over to where Gabby sat in the window and leaned against the wall. "Watcha doing, little elf?" he asked in a sing-song voice.

"Moping, if you must know, gangly human," she answered, not taking her eyes off the courtyard.

"Gangly?" he asked, feigning distaste at her reply. "I think you'll find _streamlined _to be more apposite."

"Apposite? That's a big word, for you," she replied without malice.

"It is, isn't it?" he conceded, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Between you and me, I heard Varel use it once, and I looked it up to see what it meant," he admitted.

She finally looked at him, unable to stop a smile from tugging at her lips.

"I thought you might want to come downstairs for supper," he invited. "You haven't eaten anything since this afternoon."

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"I'm annoyingly observant," he replied. "Now, come on. If Carlin is going to live up to his name and be a little champion, he needs to be fed. We wouldn't want him to grow up _gangly _or anything, would we? Maker forbid."

"No, that would never do," Gabby agreed with a faint chuckle. "I'll be down in a few minutes."

"Right – a few minutes it is, then. If you're any longer than that, I'll be up to pester you again," he promised, walking over to the door and opening it.

"Anders – you can pester me anytime," she said with a kind smile.

Anders winked at her as he closed the door.

Gabby removed the leather cord from around her neck and stroked the symbol of Andraste as it lay in her palm. "I have to think of my son, now," she said to it after a few moments, "and Anders. He worries about me so much."

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, forcing herself to give voice to her thoughts; if she said them aloud, she reasoned, they would be true. "I can see now we were never meant to be together. I love you, and I always will, but…" She hesitated as she felt tears prick at her eyes.

"No…no more tears," she resolved as she stood and walked over to her dresser. "I have to be happy for my son's sake. If I am melancholy now, he will be born melancholy." She took a small pill box from atop her dresser, removed the lid, wound the leather cord around the pendant and placed it inside, replacing the lid; she then placed the pill box at the back of the bottom drawer of the dresser, and covered it with clothing.

"There is a piece of my heart I will always keep for you," she said to herself, and slowly closed the drawer.

"Goodbye, Cullen."

~x~X~x~

Ser Talbot stood in the main foyer with five other Templars and a mage. "You will wait outside the room until you are called," he instructed. "You will give your evidence as previously discussed, and then you will leave. You will not discuss this with anyone else. Are there any questions?"

There were none. "Ser Ambrose!" Talbot called out as he spotted the Knight-Lieutenant passing through. "A moment, if you would?" Talbot then turned back toward the group. "Go upstairs and wait for me. I shall join you shortly."

As the group departed, Ser Ambrose approached Talbot. "Yes, Gideon?" he asked.

"You left that room in a hurry," said Talbot. "What did they say to you?"

Ambrose snorted and folded his arms. "They tried to convince me that you and Adrian had used strong-arm tactics in gathering evidence against Howe," he said. "They wanted me to swear, in Andraste's sight, that I believed Howe to be innocent and that all evidence against him was a fabrication."

"And you do not subscribe to that view?" Talbot asked with a raised brow.

"Hardly," Ambrose spat. "I knew he was guilty as soon as I set eyes on him; it was written all over his face."

Talbot nodded. "Very well. I will be with Howe should you need me for anything."

"I'm going outside to check on the apostates," said Ambrose, heading for the main exit. "They could be up to anything, for all we know."

"Good idea," said Talbot, "and remind them they will need to undergo the harrowing should they wish to reside here."

"I intend to," replied Ambrose.

~x~X~x~

_Cold. Not the kind of cold that makes one shiver and one's teeth chatter, but the kind that cuts through flesh and sinew and violates one's very bones; the kind that makes every movement an agony, and each moment of stillness fraught with the thought of moving again._

He gingerly reached down for the filthy blanket, grimacing as his bones screamed in protest, and pulled it over his shoulders. _I still have my wits; so long as I don't lose my mind, there is still hope for me…_

A piercing scream snapped his eyes open; he tried to still his noisy breathing, attempting to discern how far away it had been. He had no idea how long he'd been here; each moment seemed to bleed languorously into the next. He had lost all sense of time; had it been hours? Days? Years?

Did it really matter?

_Come on – think. I must keep my mind active. _He hauled himself into a sitting position, wincing at the searing pain he felt in his joints. He blinked several times, attempting to focus on the brown blur that surrounded him. _Stone walls – yes, I remember, now. _He looked up; a hole – it could hardly be called a window – high up in the wall let in a little light. _Is it daytime? Or is that false light? _

Wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, he unsteadily rose to his feet, slapping his hand against the wall for support as a wave of nausea and dizziness crashed into his head like a breaker against a cliff.

He clutched at his belly and took short, gasping breaths. _No, I'm not going to be sick! I'm not! _A rumbling, deep in his belly, shot up his gullet and he retched, over and over again, the cacophony reverberating off the stone then falling dead against the stale, noisome air; his panting and groaning the only sounds that remained. He spat out the bitter-tasting contents of his mouth and cleared his nose onto the floor. Surely it couldn't be worse than what already coated parts of the floor; from the smell, he guessed at a combination of urine and semen.

He could smell his own body odour, too; how long had it been since he'd bathed? He stroked his jaw; his beard didn't seem to have grown much. A few days, perhaps?

He looked around this room – no, this cell. It was barely large enough to contain his cot; he would just about be able to lie across the floor in one direction, but not in the other. A slop pail sat in the corner; as he approached it, it became apparent that it had not been emptied recently. Something written on the wall above it caught his eye; a message, perhaps? He squinted but could not make it out; what language was that? Arcanum? He wondered for a moment how it had been written – with what material – and then, with a glance at the bucket, decided it was probably best he didn't know.

_Where are my clothes? _he wondered, looking down the length of his body; his grubby smallclothes were all that protected his modesty.

_Where am I? How did I get here?_ _Why can't I remember anything? _

He held his breath at a noise just outside the door. _The door. There's a door. A wooden door. Yes, I remember, now._

A chink of light entered the small cell as a hatch was opened in the door. A face of sorts, which appeared not to be attached to a body, peered through; an indistinct mask that hovered at the same height as his own head.

"Here you go," said the mask, pushing a chunk of bread, a sliver of cheese, and a pewter mug through the opening.

"Please, wait!" the man cried, running over to the door. The mask was more distinct, now, as the light fell upon it, and _did _appear to be attached to a body, which wore heavy plate armour.

"What is it?" the mask asked impatiently, glancing around.

"Please…when do we get our lyrium?" the man asked desperately. "I-I need some…please…"

"I'm sorry, Knight-Commander," the mask replied. "You don't get any. Not here."

"Will you stop calling him Knight-Commander?" another voice hissed from farther away. "You'll get us hung, you will!"

"Please!" the man begged, clawing at the door. "You don't understand! I must have my lyrium!"

"I'm sorry," the mask said abruptly, unable to look at him.

"No! Don't close it! Talk to me! Please!" the man yelled as the hatch was slammed shut.


	15. Tomorrow Never Comes

_A big thank-you to everyone who reads, alerts and favourites the story, and in particular to those of you who review. :-)_

_I haven't mentioned Gillespie, Agnes or Clemence for a while - in case you've forgotten, they are apostate mages who were introduced to Gabby via The Mages Collective_, _and became Wardens, as did Padraig and Chauncey._

~x~X~x~

"Here she is!" Anders sang as Gabby trudged into the dining hall. Many members of the Keep's staff were eating their supper in the hall, and several murmurs of "Commander" could be heard as she entered.

"Evening, everyone," she said with forced cheer, making her way over to a smaller table where Anders sat with his three fellow mage Wardens.

"Good evening, Gabby," said Gillespie as she sat down, and Anders began to pour her a drink. "Anders was just telling us about what's happening in the Fade."

Anders gave Gabby an apologetic look. "Erm…are you all right to talk about that?" he asked.

"Oh, of course," she said, nodding with feigned enthusiasm. "We need to get to the bottom of this. Does anyone have any thoughts?" she asked.

"Here you go – a drop of ale," said Anders, passing her a tankard.

"Ale? Anders, I can't…"

"Ginger ale," he chuckled.

"Thanks. You think of everything," she said with a genuine smile.

"We're just as baffled as you are," said Agnes; Gillespie and Clemence nodded in agreement. "Really, this shouldn't even be possible. I'm at a loss."

"Isn't it a bit of a coincidence that all of these people, who died in the same place, at the same time, are now reunited in the fade?" asked Gillespie. Everyone at the table nodded. "Sorry, I'm stating the obvious," he continued, "but I'm just trying to figure it out in my head."

"It's all right, Gil," Anders replied. "_That _is pretty much the only thing we're certain of at this time."

"So, none of them remembered you or Anders?" Clemence asked Gabby.

She shook her head. "We remembered them though, didn't we?" she said to Anders. "It was…unsettling, to say the least."

"Very," Anders agreed with a sigh. "There are Templars there, too, all of whom seem to have retained their abilities, but clearly they don't remember what those abilities are, or what they're used for; although I'm pretty sure Cullen will have explained it to them by now."

"Wait a minute," said Gillespie, leaning forward. "You're telling us that there are _more _non-magi in the fade – alert and aware? I know you mentioned Cullen, the Templar, and that was unusual in itself, but…_more_? How many?"

"At least a dozen," said Anders, "more like fifteen or sixteen. And they all sensed when Gabby's mana field fluctuated. They were Templars, all right."

"That's not all," Gabby added. "According to Cullen, they all have their own domains."

"What?" the three mages exclaimed. "That's impossible!" said Clemence.

"Yes, that's what we thought, but there it is," Gabby answered with a shrug.

No closer to an answer, the five Warden mages sat in contemplative silence. As Gabby reached for a chicken leg, a thought occurred to her.

"Has anyone seen Martin and Meredith lately?" she asked her companions.

"They were sparring earlier on in the yard, before it grew dark," said Anders. "Why?"

"I think we should bring them into this conversation," Gabby suggested.

Anders pulled a face. "Gabs, if _we _don't know what's going on, then how will they?"

"Here's Meredith, just come in for his supper," said Agnes, pointing to the entrance of the hall.

"Meredith!" Gabby called, beckoning him over. "Please join us," she invited. "Will Martin be coming along?"

"Good evening," Meredith said as he took a seat. "I believe Martin is still recovering from the thrashing I gave him earlier," he joked, "but, yes, he should be here soon."

"Excuse me," said Anders, rising from his chair. "I'll get us some more bread and wine. Red for you, isn't it?" he asked Meredith.

"Oh, thank you, yes," he replied as Agnes loaded a plate with chicken, bread and pickles for him. Gabby smiled to herself, delighted at the effort the mages were making lately to be more welcoming toward the Templars. Although Gabby felt that the ice still needed to be broken, as they were all being terribly polite to each other, it was a start.

Anders returned from the kitchen laden with two bottles of wine in one arm, and a tray holding a freshly-baked bannock and a slab of butter in the other. As he placed them on the table and took his seat, Meredith stared, open-mouthed at Gabby, his face drained of all colour.

"Cullen?" he asked hoarsely. "He-he's in the _fade_? How can that be?"

"Good question," Anders muttered, wasting no time in opening the wine and pouring some for everyone except Gabby; instead, he topped up her ginger ale.

"Did you speak to him?" Meredith asked warily. "Does he know how he…you know…how he died?"

Gabby gulped and looked at her plate. "No," she said quietly. "He doesn't remember."

Anders watched Gabby carefully as Meredith exhaled noisily. "This is…unexpected, to say the least," he mumbled. "Although Cullen was not…well, I was shocked to hear of his death. Have you had any conversations with him?" he asked Gabby.

Anders cleared his throat noisily, eager to steer the conversation away from Cullen. "There are some other Templars there, too," he said. "All of those who were lost at the Tower. Well, some of them. There were a lot more than fifteen Templars at the Tower."

"Did you recognise any of them?" asked Meredith.

"Ser Drass," Gabby said immediately. She would never forget him - he was the unfortunate Templar who had been ensorcelled by a Desire Demon at the Tower, and had almost killed Gabby - only Alistair's quick reaction of shoving her to the ground as Drass' sword swung at her neck had saved her life. Alistair had ended the fight by running Drass through - Gabby had already taken care of the demon.

"Pickford, Maltravers, Scott, Reid, Hunter…any more, Gabs?" asked Anders as he tried to recall who they'd seen in the fade.

"Ashby, Neely…erm…no, I didn't recognise any of the others. Perhaps they were the ones we never saw without their helms on?"

"Drass – I remember him," Meredith said quietly. "He was never really happy with our way of life; I don't think it suited him. He once told me he found being a Templar to be a very lonely existence. Do you know how he died?" he asked Gabby.

"I don't know," she lied.

"Were you at the Tower, at the time?" Anders asked Meredith.

"No, I was one of the lucky ones…I was in the Bannorn with a group of five others, hunting…" He paused and glanced up at Anders. "Well, we didn't do a very good job of it," he conceded sheepishly. "We never did catch him."

"You might have had more luck in Amaranthine," Gabby ventured with a sly grin.

"Yes, I can see that now," Meredith replied, a wry smile pulling at the edge of his mouth.

"Here's to incompetent Templars!" cried Anders, raising his tankard.

"Incompetent Templars!" the rest of the mages joined in, raising their vessels in a toast.

"Here's to lucky apostates," Meredith quipped, and tapped his tankard against the others'.

"I'll drink to that!" Anders exclaimed as laughter rang around the table, the ice finally broken.

Martin joined them shortly afterwards, and was just as disturbed as Meredith had been at Gabby and Anders' tale. As it was growing late, and as Anders kept dropping heavy hints that expectant mothers shouldn't stay up too late, it was decided that the following day Anders and Clemence – also a healer – would return to the fade in the hope of learning more. It was also agreed – after much debate – that Meredith and Martin would stay with Anders and Clemence as they slept, to be on the safe side.

As they all bid each other goodnight and left the table, Clemence took Gabby to one side. "You're starting to show a little, aren't you?" she said excitedly.

"Yes, I have a little tummy, now," Gabby said with a laugh as she patted her belly.

"So when's the wedding going to be?" Clemence asked as they left the hall.

Gabby's face dropped. "Not until Nate and Varel return," she replied. "They're our best man and 'father of the bride.'"

"I'm sure they'll be back in no time," Clemence reassured her.

"Yes, I'm sure," Gabby replied blankly.

"I have to know," Clemence whispered with a giggle, "how did you and Anders manage it? What I mean is, you sleep in separate rooms, don't you?"

"Oh, you know how it is, living in a tower for most of your life," Gabby said suavely. "We like our own space, you know?"

"Oh, yes – I can understand that," Clemence replied, "but surely you're going to share a room when you're married?"

"I, um…I haven't really…" Gabby stumbled over her words as she laughed nervously.

"Oh, just tell me to mind my own business, Gabby," Clemence laughed. "You know how nosey I am." She leaned over and gave Gabby a peck on the cheek. "But come on, Gabby – _I_ wouldn't kick him out of bed," she said with a wink as she headed toward her room.

"Goodnight, Clemence," Gabby said with mock sternness as her friend sailed into her room, giggling.

~x~X~x~

"Where's your friend?" Nathaniel queried as Ser Talbot entered his room, alone. "Had a tiff, have you?"

Talbot sniffed, pursed his lips and cleared his throat as he sat down. "Now, I shall present the witnesses to you," he said imperiously.

"Oh, I've been looking forward to this," Nathaniel said sarcastically.

"As have I," Varel agreed. "I require writing material, to make notes. You are obliged to provide them."

"Of course," said Talbot. He rose and opened the door. "_Where have you been_?" Nathaniel and Varel heard him hiss as Lucy entered the room and took a seat. The three of them sat in silence, Lucy busying himself with his papers, while they waited for Talbot's return. Eventually, Talbot entered the room and passed some writing paper, a quill and a small bottle of ink to Varel.

"This isn't invisible ink, is it?" Varel asked, and Nathaniel snorted with laughter.

"Perhaps you should take your situation more seriously," Talbot warned with a hard look at the older man.

"Why? Most of your investigation's been a joke so far, so we may as well get a laugh out of it," Varel answered. "Go on – bring your 'witnesses' in. I'm hungry, and supper time approaches."

Talbot nodded to Lucy, who stood and opened the door. "You two – inside," said Lucy. Two men, dressed in Templar armour, entered the room. Nathaniel had never set eyes on them before.

As Lucy sat down, Talbot began. "Ser Green and Ser James, you were stationed outside Knight-Commander Cullen's quarters the night Warden Howe gained access to said quarters…"

"No. This is all wrong," Nathaniel interrupted as Varel made notes. "Firstly, I've never seen these two men before in my life. Secondly, if you are indeed Ser Green," he said with a look at one of the witnesses, "then you were stationed at the foot of the stairs – as witnessed by Warden-Commander Surana – and were not on duty on the fourth floor that night. Finally, Ser Lewin and Ser Woodcock were posted outside Cullen's quarters – not these two."

"I want to speak to Lewin and Woodcock, and to see your duty roster for that night," Varel demanded.

"The duty roster is right here," said Talbot, pushing a leather-bound book toward Varel. "The night in question is bookmarked. Lewin and Woodcock are in the field at the present time."

"How convenient. More witnesses who are unable to attend," Varel muttered as he read through the book. "This has obviously been altered," he said, finding no mention of Lewin or Woodcock on the night in question.

"Examine the pages carefully," Talbot invited him. "I am sure you will find no evidence of tampering."

"Well someone is lying," said Nathaniel. "I know for a fact that Lewin was on duty that night, as Commander Surana spoke to him."

"And where did they speak?" asked Talbot.

"On the fourth floor, where he was _stationed _for the night."

Talbot laughed mirthlessly. "You are telling me that your Commander, a mage with no stealth abilities, gained access to the fourth floor?"

"Yes," Nathaniel answered. "Obviously your men are not as diligent as you'd like to believe."

Varel's stomach growled. "Well, we may as well get this over with. What do you have to say?" he asked the two witnesses.

Ser Green stood to attention and clasped his hands behind his back. "Warden Howe entered Knight-Commander Cullen's quarters at two hours past midnight…" he began.

"Why did you not stop him?" asked Varel.

"We were frightened," said Ser Green. "He appeared as a shadow; we were taken aback and were unsure how to proceed."

"How did you know it was me, then, if I appeared as a shadow?" Nathaniel asked in a bored tone.

"Your hair, the way you walked – we could tell it was you," Ser James claimed.

Nathaniel could not help laughing. "So, you saw a likeness of me sometime before that night, then? Because this is the first time you and I have ever met. This is a complete farce," he said as he stood up.

"What are you doing?" Talbot asked as both he and Lucy rose to their feet.

"I'm going to show you exactly how my abilities work, and prove beyond doubt that I _cannot _be identified whilst in shadow form." Nathaniel glanced around the room. "There is too much light in here – one of those torches needs to be extinguished."

"No – I cannot allow this," said Talbot. "You could escape."

"I can't walk through walls, you know," Nathaniel sneered, unable to hide his annoyance. "Not even a mage can do that."

"Are you going to deny Warden Howe the chance to prove his innocence?" Varel asked pointedly.

"No," Talbot answered, realising that Varel had him over a barrel. "Stand in front of the door," he instructed Lucy, Green and James. "Proceed," he said to Nathaniel once the other Templars were in place.

Nathaniel extinguished one of the torches and immediately one half of the room was shrouded in shadow. He stepped into the darkest corner of the room, closed his eyes, and promptly disappeared.

"Yes, very impressive," Talbot muttered unenthusiastically as several sharp intakes of breath could be heard. "You may come out, now."

Nathaniel remained silent and hidden. "He hasn't started the demonstration, yet," Varel said with a smug grin. "You'll like this."

The dancing shadows cast on the far wall behind Varel seemed to darken and swell slightly. Varel's hair moved a little as he felt Nathaniel breeze past, but the Templars were none the wiser – their eyes were fixed on the corner of the room where they had last seen Nathaniel.

"Warden Howe – where are you?" Talbot asked sternly.

"Maker's Breath!" Ser Lucy exclaimed in a voice shrill with panic.

"What?" Talbot demanded.

"Something tapped me on the shoulder!" Lucy answered shakily, looking behind him; there was nobody to be seen.

"Are you certain?" Talbot asked doubtfully. "How could he move from the corner without being noticed?"

"Easy," a voice whispered in Talbot's ear, causing him to jump and clutch at his chest.

"All right, that's quite enough!" Talbot snapped. "Show yourself!"

An eerie silence fell over the room, broken a few moments later by Varel's low chuckle.

"Go and light that torch, one of you," Talbot commanded.

"You must be joking!" Ser Lucy spluttered.

"What's the matter? Afraid he'll tap you on the shoulder again?" Varel mocked.

"Allow me," said a smooth, mellifluous voice that seemed to come from nowhere, and yet everywhere, all at once. Several groans of relief could be heard as the torch was lit by Nathaniel, who remained in the corner, looking very pleased with himself. "That was fun, wasn't it?" he asked the outraged Talbot. "We must do that again."

"You may go," Talbot barked at Green and James.

"I don't think so," Nathaniel said as he took his seat. "I have a right to question these men." Without waiting for Talbot's response, he turned to Green and James. "Perhaps you could tell me exactly how you identified me, just now? What stood out? What was it about me that gave the game away? And, while you're at it, perhaps you could also tell me how you remembered details such as my hair and the way I walked when clearly you were putting all of your concentration into not pissing your pants in terror," he scathed.

"The lighting was different outside Cullen's quarters," Ser James said preposterously. "We were able to make you out."

"The lighting was _poorer_ up there than it was down here," Nathaniel countered, "and you couldn't make me out in _here_. All right – I'll give you a chance. If you identified me by my hair, how did I wear it?"

James and Green glanced at one another. "As you do now," Green answered. "Braided at the front and sides."

"You remember _that_ much detail?" Nathaniel replied with mock admiration. "Wrong," he said flatly. "It was the middle of the night, and I had just risen from bed. My hair was loose." He turned to Lucy and Talbot. "If you're going to hire actors, at least hire good ones, and tell them to get their stories straight next time," he said with disgust. "I've heard enough."

"Actors? These are knights of the Chantry…" Talbot insisted.

"I was wondering when we'd come to that," Nathaniel interrupted, folding his arms. "We've accused you of lying pretty much all the way through this 'investigation', and I've yet to hear one protest, one assertion that 'we are knights of the Chantry and we have sworn an oath not to lie.' Well done for finally remembering," he said rancorously.

"Are the rest of your 'witnesses' going to contradict themselves as much as these two have?" asked Varel.

"That will be all," Talbot said to Green and James, dismissing them. "Send in Ser Bridges."

"_Bridges? That name rings a bell_," Nathaniel whispered to Varel.

The door opened, and another Templar walked in; this one, however, did not look as sure of himself as had the other two. He closed the door and stood awkwardly, unable to look Nathaniel in the eye.

"Good to see you again, Will," said Nathaniel, his eyes narrowing a little as he spoke. "Will, here, tried out for the Grey Wardens," he informed Varel, who appraised the young Templar coolly and nodded.

"Warden Howe," Ser Bridges said with a curt nod, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"Ser Bridges, would you recount your version of events on the night that the magi child, Lorenna Pelham, caused an incident in the dormitory?" asked Ser Lucy.

Ser Bridges cleared his throat and began. "The child had set fire to one of the apprentice's beds, and so it was agreed that Warden-Commander Surana would take charge of the child for the remainder of the night."

"Go on," Talbot prompted.

"I was stationed outside the Warden-Commander's bedroom," Bridges continued. Nathaniel shook his head in disagreement, but remained silent. "Commander Surana and Knight-Commander Cullen came up to her room with the child," he continued. "Warden Howe came out of his room to see what was going on, and seemed displeased at the Knight-Commander's state of undress. The two Commanders said goodnight in an overly-friendly manner. Knight-Commander Cullen then passed Warden Howe on his way to the fourth floor."

"And then what happened?" asked Talbot.

"A threat was made against the Knight-Commander by Warden Howe."

"Yes, I told him I was watching him," Nathaniel said truthfully.

"Does that correlate with your testimony, Bridges?" asked Talbot.

"N-no, ser, that is not what he said," Bridges answered, still unable to look at Nathaniel.

"What did he say?" Talbot asked again.

Bridges took a deep breath. "He said 'keep your hands off her, or you're a dead man.'"

Nathaniel leaned forward and sighed. "Will," he said softly, "you know very well you weren't on duty that night. Meredith Willoughby was stationed outside the Commander's room. You had worked a late shift, and had long since gone to bed."

Varel flicked through the duty roster and ran his finger down a page. "Nathaniel," he whispered, pointing to the guard compliment for that night; there was no mention of Meredith Willoughby, and Ser Bridges' name was listed for third-floor duty.

"Let me look at that roster," said Nathaniel. He turned several pages, and went back to the beginning of the book. He cupped his hand over Varel's ear and whispered something to him. Varel took the book back and also looked through several pages.

"Yes, you're right," Varel said after a few moments.

"You're right about what?" Talbot asked suspiciously.

"We've heard enough," said Nathaniel. "Will has given his testimony. Let him go."

"What, no arguments? No protestations of innocence?" Talbot asked in surprise.

"No, I can't be bothered anymore," Nathaniel answered. "It's getting late, and Varel and I are hungry." Nathaniel knew Will to be a man of good character, and had a feeling that, if pressed, he would break down under questioning. The young Templar had clearly been intimidated into providing false testimony, and Nathaniel did not wish to make his situation more troublesome.

"Very well. We shall resume in the morning," said Talbot, as he and Lucy rose. "That will be all, Bridges."

Ser bridges departed the room quickly without another word. "Food and drink will be brought up to you," said Talbot. "Will you be departing for your camp, Varel?"

"No, I'll be staying here tonight," Varel answered.

Ser Talbot frowned. "But I thought you said you would be camping outside."

"Yes, I did say that, and I've changed my mind. Is there a problem?"

"No," Talbot answered. "We can have quarters arranged for you…"

"That won't be necessary," said Varel. "I'll be staying here, with Nathaniel."

"Then you will have to sleep on the floor."

"Yes, I know," Varel answered.

"As you wish," Talbot replied with a bemused frown as he and Lucy headed through the door, sending in a Templar guard whom Nathaniel was not acquainted with.

"I'm going to speak to Chauncey and Padraig," Varel announced, rising to his feet and grimacing as he stretched. "I miss my old chair in the office," he complained. "An old bugger like me shouldn't have to sit on hard, wooden chairs like these."

"I'll bet Gabby has got her claws into that chair of yours," Nathaniel speculated. "She always did like it."

Varel chuckled and nodded in agreement. "I wonder how they're getting on?" he wondered.

"They'll be fine," Nathaniel assured him. "Gabby and Anders are the sorts who'll get by on luck and blind optimism," he laughed.

Varel shook his head and smiled fondly. "So, we're agreed, then? Tomorrow?" he asked in a more serious tone.

"Tomorrow," Nathaniel replied.

"I'll be back shortly," said Varel, as the Templar guard opened the door for him.

~x~X~x~

"Varel!" Padraig called as the seneschal approached the small camp at the jetty.

"Everything all right?" Varel asked the two mages. "Any trouble from the Templars?"

"No, only that Ambrose told us we wouldn't be allowed into the Tower unless we underwent the harrowing," Chauncey replied.

"The harrowing? But haven't you already done that, at the Tower in Nevarra?" asked Varel.

"I did something similar," she replied, "but apparently we still have to do _their _harrowing."

"Well, you won't have to worry about that," Varel answered, lowering his voice. "We're leaving tomorrow."

"But I was supposed to be tutoring a little girl," Chauncey protested.

"I'm sorry, Chauncey, but that's not our problem. I need to get Nathaniel out of here, and get him proper legal representation - and a proper trial - away from here. The evidence they have against him is laughable, but while he's here, he's still a prisoner, and I don't trust those cockless bastards as far as I could throw them."

"All right, Varel – we'll be ready to assist," Padraig answered.

"No," said Varel. "Stay out here, and don't engage the Templars. I really don't know which way things will go; we may need to fight our way out. We may get some help, but there's no guarantee. Just stick to what we talked about, remember the contingency plan, and be packed and ready to leave."

"All right, Varel," Padraig agreed.

"Chauncey?"

"Whatever you say, old man," she said cheekily.

Varel nodded and sighed. "I'd better get back to Nathaniel," he said. "Are the two of you all right?"

"We're fine, Varel," Padraig answered, walked up to him, and shook his hand. "Best of luck to you."

"To us all," Varel groaned, and headed back into the Tower.

As the main doors slammed shut behind him, Varel began to make his way along the first floor corridor, dreading the thought of the three flights of steps to come.

"Seneschal Varel?" a voice called from behind him.

"Yes?" he answered, turned around, then stumbled backwards as sudden, intense pain stabbed like hot knives into his eyes. "What in the Maker's name..." he gasped, clutching at his head.

Varel yelled and dropped to his knees as he felt an invisible vise crushing the sides of his head, and, just as he thought his head would cave in, he felt his legs go from under him, catching sight of a brightly-coloured robe as the floor rushed up to meet him. Then he saw no more.


	16. The Turning Of The Tide

_Thank you – again – to CCBug for being so patient with her daft friend. Perspective is good. :-)_

_Thank you also to everyone who continues to read, alert and review.  
_

~x~X~x~

Gabby was woken the following morning by a loud knock at her bedroom door. "Who is it?" she asked blearily, shielding her eyes from the morning sun.

"Me," said Anders. "Are you naked?" he asked hopefully.

"No, I'm in bed, and I have my nightie on," she giggled. "Sorry."

He opened the door and entered, carrying a plate of buttered toast and a mug of tea on a tray. "I'll catch you one day," he said with a wink as he set the tray down next to her bed. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Gabby hauled herself up into a sitting position, rubbed her eyes and yawned. "I wasn't aware I was ill," she said.

"You know what I mean," Anders replied, pinching a piece of toast, walking over to the window and looking out over the courtyard.

She shrugged and picked up her mug. "I don't know. I feel a bit…flat, you know?"

"Mm," Anders mumbled, turning to face her. "You know, what you need is a bit of fun. How about you and I do something after I've been into the fade? Something silly, like we used to?"

"You mean something Varel and Nate would disapprove of?" she asked, taking a sip of tea.

"That's _exactly _what I mean," he answered, with a quick wiggle of his eyebrows.

Unable to resist his infectious joviality, she smiled and nodded her head. "All right, you're on. What did you have in mind?"

"Erm, well, I haven't actually thought that far ahead, yet," he admitted. "Tell you what - you have a think while I'm in the fade."

Gabby's smile faded. "So I have to do all the thinking while you're asleep? This was your idea!" she teased.

"Burdens of command," he said with mock sympathy.

"Erm - you're my second-in-command, remember? You have to make decisions when I'm incapable or not around – and I'm in bed at the moment."

"But you're around _me_, and you're awake, so you're capable – get thinking, Commander," he said cheekily. "Besides, Nate is the _real _second-in-command around here."

"Oh, no - you're not doing that again – conveniently un-promoting yourself when you have to actually do something!" she scolded.

"I can do whatever I want," he said with indignation, ducking to avoid a thrown pillow. "It's not as if you're spoiled for second-in-commands to choose from, so watch it, or I might go on strike."

"As if I'd notice the difference," she snorted derisively as she took a bite of her toast.

Anders moved to the foot of her bed and put his hands on his hips. "You know, I always stick up for you - no matter what the others say about you - and _this_ is how you repay me?"

"Out!" she ordered, laughing, as she reached for another pillow.

Anders scrambled for the door and opened it, using it as a shield as he stood behind it with only his head poking round. "It's all right, Gabby," he said soothingly. "I understand – hormones, and women's stuff. You don't have to feel guilty for being such a mardy _cow_."

"I said _out_!" she yelled, her second pillow hitting the door as it closed.

Gabby's shoulders shook as she laughed to herself; Anders seemed to have a gift for lifting her spirits. Another knock came at the door.

"Are you naked, _yet_?" he asked impatiently.

"No!"

The door opened slowly and Anders gingerly peered around. "We're going into the fade in about half an hour, in my room, if you want to spectate," he offered, picking up the pillow that lay on the floor.

"I'll be there," she replied as he tossed the pillow back to her. "Anders – thanks," she said.

"What for? The pillow?" he asked.

"For being you," she said with a warm smile.

Anders beamed and his face seemed to colour a little as he closed the door. "See you in a bit," he chirped.

~x~X~x~

After a quick wash, Gabby threw on a clean robe and made her way to Anders' room, which was further up the corridor. As she approached, she was hailed by Martin, who was just about to enter. "Good morning, Gabby," he said, opening the door for her. "After you."

"Thank you Martin, and good morning to you," she replied, entering Anders' room. Clemence, Meredith and Anders were already there, and they all greeted one another.

"I'm glad you're here, actually, Gabs," said Anders. "Your sleep spell is better than anyone's here, so if you wouldn't mind doing the honours?"

"Oh no, I don't mind," she replied.

"Come on then, Clem," he said, patting his bed. "Hop on." The two healers lay on Anders' bed and held hands.

"Erm, Gabby – perhaps you should leave, once you have cast your spell?" Meredith suggested.

"No, I'll be staying," she replied.

The two Templars exchanged a nervous glance. "I really don't think they're in any danger," she explained.

"He's right, Gabs – you should go," said Anders. "Sorry – I know I asked you to come along, but it's better to be safe."

She cast him an annoyed glance, then sighed. "All right – I'll go," she reluctantly agreed.

"Ready when you are, Gabby," said Martin.

Gabby walked over to the bed, closed her eyes and held her hand over Clemence and Anders. "See you soon," Anders promised. Martin and Meredith felt Gabby's arcane energy pulse through their blood as she sent the two mages to sleep. Anders started snoring immediately.

The Templars took up their positions – one on either side of the bed. "Gabby," Meredith said apologetically. "We need to concentrate – if you don't mind…"

Gabby nodded and looked at the two mages one last time before exiting the room and closing the door. As she stood outside the door – having no intention of leaving – her stomach tightened at the sound of two swords being unsheathed from within. She pressed her ear to the door and waited.

Martin and Meredith paid close attention to the Warden mages as they slumbered, watching for every twitch, every snort, every soft grunt.

"Here we are," Anders said in his sleep.

"What do we do with that?" Clemence asked.

"Give me your hand; if we touch it at the same time, we'll be taken to Cullen's domain…or whatever it is. Ready?"

Clemence nodded as she softly snored. A pause followed.

"Don't be frightened," said Anders. "They can't hurt you – not unless you get _really _upset. And don't cast any spells."

"Anders…I think you underestimated the numbers – didn't you say there were around fifty people here?"

Deep frown lines formed on Anders' face and his mouth fell open. Martin and Meredith looked at one another with concern.

"Crap!" Anders hissed. "Oh, crap…there's more of them! How did…oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"What?" asked Clemence.

"You see how they're divided into two groups? And the group on the left are all men?"

"Anders, I don't know any of these people – you'll have to explain it to me," said Clemence.

"The group on the left are _Templars_," Anders said sourly; Martin and Meredith shifted uncomfortably. "The divisions have started already," Anders continued. "Bloody Templars!"

"Do you think mages know that they talk in their sleep when in the fade?" Meredith asked Martin.

"I'm not sure," Martin replied, "although I have a feeling Anders wouldn't hesitate to call _us _'bloody Templars', as well."

The recumbent Anders shook his head. "We told _one_ of the Templars that mages are at _slight _risk of possession – and now look at them! They won't go anywhere near the mages! This is ridiculous!"

"But those mages can't be possessed," Clemence argued. "They're fade spirits."

"I know! I told you – all Templars are cretins. You know what it is, don't you? Most of their brainpower is used up desperately trying not to think about sex, and each new bit of information that comes into their heads gets pushed out again immediately."

"Are you joking?" Clemence snorted. "I bet that's _all _they ever think about."

"Course it is!" Anders seethed, really getting into his stride. "They must have right arms like bloody tree trunks!"

Meredith cleared his throat awkwardly as he felt his face flush red; Martin, however, was doubled over, laughing.

"Martin – concentrate, please!" Meredith scolded.

Martin straightened and nodded his head, wiping tears from his eyes. "You have to admit – that _was _quite funny," he chuckled, and then rolled his eyes at Meredith's grim expression. "All right, all right," he said, once again turning his attention to Anders, who lay nearest to him.

"Why have they gone quiet?" asked Meredith.

"Perhaps someone is speaking to them," Martin suggested. The two Templar Wardens immediately tensed and held their swords ready.

"No, you have to tell them that they need to work together, not split into groups and be all suspicious of each other!" Anders said in an annoyed tone.

"I wonder who he's talking to?" Martin wondered aloud.

"Look – we can't help you unless you help yourselves," Anders continued. "Some of these people are newly arrived here – they may retain some memory of their former lives. You need to talk to them."

Anders paused for a few moments, appearing to listen to someone Martin and Meredith could not hear.

"Yes, they do all have something in common," Anders said, followed by a deep sigh, and another pause.

"Maybe it will help jog some memories, if we tell them?" Clemence suggested.

"All right," Anders groaned. "The truth is, all of these people – all of them – died in the same place, because of the same person."

Anders paused again as he appeared to be listening to someone.

"You know I said before that we all lived together in a tower? Mages and Templars? Well…" Anders sighed and fidgeted on the bed. "One of the mages…well, he went mental. Tried to take over the Tower. Well, he didn't just try, he succeeded. He had blood mages…actually, let's not get into that. Suffice to say, he was responsible for all of these people's deaths – mages and Templars alike. Except yours," he finished, and fell quiet.

"He must be talking to Cullen," Meredith whispered, listening intently.

"Do you _really _want to know how you died? Do you think your friends over there would want to know that they died as abominations, or were killed by one – or were burned to death?" Anders asked.

"Well, if you really must know, you were murdered," he said after another pause.

Meredith shifted uncomfortably; Martin sighed noisily.

"We don't know; it's being investigated at the moment," said Anders. "In fact, my friend is being questioned over it, but _he _didn't do it, I know that for a fact."

Clemence and Anders sighed.

"Well, that's a nice sentiment, Cullen, but unless you can remember how you died and who killed you, I'm afraid that won't be of much help to him. I don't put much faith in the power of prayer, myself," said Anders, and sighed again. "Look," he said in a softer tone. "What would really help is if you speak to those men over there, and get everyone talking together. You can't afford to be divided. Some of you may remember something – even the tiniest thing may be of value."

He paused once more, and then resumed. "It looks to me as if everyone is here, now. Let's see – there must be about forty, fifty Templars, and well over a hundred mages and apprentices here – yes, that's about right. You need to get talking, _now_, before you all lose your memories for good."

The sleeping Anders nodded. "Good – all right, we'll return tomorrow; get as much information as you can, and then we'll know what our options are." He fell quiet for a moment, and then his expression suddenly changed to a scowl. "She's _fine_," he snapped. "You don't need to worry about _her _anymore. Come on, Ga – I mean, Clem."

"Sounds like they're ready to leave," said Martin. "I wonder if Gabby is outside?"

"Of course she is," Meredith replied with a wry smile, and walked over to the door. "Gabby?" he called as he opened it.

"Everything all right?" she asked, entering the room.

"They're ready to come back," Meredith informed her.

"Right," she replied, and walked over to the bed. She once again held her hand over Anders and Clemence's slumbering forms, and reversed the sleep spell; Meredith and Martin, with some relief, sheathed their swords.

Clemence groaned as her eyes flickered open; Anders snorted like a pig and pushed himself up onto an elbow. "Hey, Clem – we're still alive! That's great!" he said with a cheeky look at Martin. "Unless this is some really weird part of the fade, where everything is exactly as it is in real life…and there are _still _Templars in it," he remarked with distaste.

"No, you're quite alive," Martin assured him cheerfully. "Well, we'll be going, if we're no longer needed," he said, heading for the door. "We'd better do some work on our left arms, Meredith – so they match our right ones."

"Thank you very much," said an oblivious Gabby, as Anders and Clemence exchanged a confused and horrified glance. "Come on – tell me all about it," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed, as the door was closed by Meredith.

~x~X~x~

Ser Ambrose stood in the main foyer of the Circle Tower, receiving the handover from the Templar in charge of the night shift, as the morning shift began. "Anything unusual to report?" he asked.

"We caught Carla and Wesley at it again in a stock cupboard, but besides that, nothing out of the ordinary."

Ambrose groaned. "That girl is going to get herself in trouble if she's not careful," he said, clasping his forehead. "Perhaps I should have one of the older females speak to her…"

"Ambrose!" yelled a voice from out in the corridor. Ambrose turned to see a fellow Templar frantically beckoning him over. "Thank you, Albert. Sleep well," he said as he approached the panic-stricken knight. "Yes, what is it?" he asked.

"You'd better come quick, ser…it's…it's Warden Howe."

"What about him?"

"He-he's escaped, ser."

"He's _what_?" Ambrose exclaimed with an incredulous laugh. "How can he have escaped? He was in a locked, guarded room!"

"I took over from Ser Marsh this morning, and opened the door to check on him; the room was empty," answered the nervous knight.

"What about Seneschal Varel? Has he gone, too?" Ambrose asked.

"I don't know, ser, just, please…hurry. Talbot and Lucy are up there, and they're spitting blood."

"Very well," Ambrose said with another groan. "After you."

As Ambrose and his companion reached the fourth floor, yelling could be heard from a short distance away.

"What do you mean, he just wasn't there? Admit it – you fell asleep at your post, didn't you? I want him found – now! None of you fuckwits are going to bed until he's found! Get going!" Ambrose hesitated as he approached Nathaniel's room, taken aback by Ser Lucy's foul language.

"Ah – Ser Ambrose," Talbot called, beckoning him over. "We have a problem, it seems."

"Yes, so I've just heard," Ambrose replied as he entered Nathaniel's room, which had been ransacked in the search for clues. "When was he discovered missing?"

"During the changeover," Talbot answered. "Apparently we will need two men to guard him from now on – one to make sure the other does not fall asleep."

"I didn't fall asleep!" Ser Marsh protested.

"Why are you still here?" Lucy blustered, his face red and his eye twitching. "Go and join the others, and do not return until he is found!"

"Yes, ser," Marsh answered, and departed.

"Where is Seneschal Varel?" asked Ambrose. "I thought he was staying in this room, too."

"Varel is in the basement," Talbot answered.

"He's _where_?" Lucy asked in astonishment, stepping forward to face Talbot.

"He tried to assault me last night, on his way back up here," Talbot claimed, ignoring Lucy's withering stare. "He can stay down there, for now."

"I see," Ambrose said indifferently. "Has anyone spoken to the Wardens camped outside, yet? Are they even still there?"

"I haven't even had time to think of that," said Talbot. "Would you take care of that, Ambrose?"

"At once," Ambrose replied. "Will the two of you be staying up here, for now?"

"Yes, we suspect that Howe is still on this floor," Talbot answered.

"Very well, I shall inform you of any news," Ambrose said as he turned and headed for the stairs. As he descended, he looked around him, remembering Nathaniel's demonstration of his stealth abilities while they were at camp; he examined every dark corner, and every shadow, as he made his way down the Tower, half expecting a pair of piercing grey eyes to leap out at him from the darkness at any moment.

He exited the tower through the main doors, and made his way over to the jetty; Padraig and Chauncey were still there, but were dismantling their camp. Kester was up and about, and had let his dog out for a run.

"Ambrose," Padraig said with a curt nod; Chauncey stopped what she was doing and watched the Knight-Lieutenant expectantly.

Ambrose approached the two mages, stopping in front of Padraig. "Proceed," he said.

Padraig nodded once, squeezed Chauncey's shoulder, and headed over to Kester. "Kester, I know it's early, but would you be able to take me across to the inn?" he asked.

"Of course, Warden," Kester answered. "Young Meg would love a trip across, too. Here, girl!" he called, and his dog came bounding over, excited at the prospect of a ride in her master's boat, as Padraig climbed aboard.

"There will be six of us to bring back," Padraig informed Kester. "Have you the room?"

"Aye, Warden, if you don't mind having Meg on your lap," Kester replied.

"That's fine," said Padraig as he ruffled the dog's head.

"Stay here, where it's safe," Ambrose warned Chauncey, then turned and headed back to the Tower, unsheathing his sword and running his thumb along its edge, before sheathing it again.


	17. Sinners, Repent At Leisure

_My sincere thanks to all of you who read, alert and favourite, and in particular to those of you who review or PM me – you make my day!_

_There will be one more update of this story before D-day (Dragon Age 2 day!)  
_

~x~X~x~

Padraig entered The Spoiled Princess accompanied by Kester's dog, Meg – she was as daft as a brush but looked quite tough, being a Mabari cross. The inn was deserted, it being so early in the morning. Padraig listened carefully and could hear movements in the back room.

"Hello?" he called out.

"Eh? Whassat?" asked a muffled voice. The door to the back room opened, and the innkeeper, Jared, peered around.

"I'm sorry to trouble you so early," Padraig said apologetically.

"I've seen you before, haven't I?" asked Jared, holding his hand up to stop Padraig from speaking. "Hang on a tick…you're that Grey Warden fellow who came in here a few days ago, aren't you? You went across the lake with those Templars?"

"That's right," Padraig confirmed. "Are those men still here?"

"Aye, they're still here, Warden," said Jared.

Padraig raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That's a relief. I half expected them to run off with my money."

"Ah, but you promised them more if they waited – there's the trick," Jared said with a knowing smile. "You want me to get them up for you?"

"Would it be safe for you to do so?" Padraig asked with a wry smile.

"Listen, all I've got to do is mention money and they'll be down here like a shot. I'm more concerned about you – no offence, Warden, but they're all big, burly lads, and well, you – you're a slip of a lad," said Jared, referring to Padraig's slender build. "You've no armour, either – just a robe, and what with you carrying money around…"

"I can take care of myself," Padraig assured him with an easy smile, pointing to his staff. "Crowd control is my speciality."

"Ah well, I'm sure you know best, Warden," said Jared, heading for the stairs. "I'll tell them you're here."

"Thank you," said Padraig, taking a seat at one of the tables as Meg settled at his feet.

After a few minutes, Jared appeared at the top of the stairs and made his way down. "They're on their way," he said, heading for the bar. "I'd best lay on some grog."

"They drink this early in the morning?" Padraig asked, frowning. "But it's before seven."

Jared laughed as he filled a large pitcher with ale. "It's never too early for that lot."

Both men looked up at the ceiling as several thuds and bangs came from above. "I hope they're in a fit state to fight," Padraig muttered.

"Warden," said Jared as he placed the pitcher and several mugs on the table, "this stuff is like fuel to them. They'll fight _better _with this in their bellies." He walked back over to the bar, picked up a large tankard and returned to Padraig's table, placing it in front of him. "Apple cider," he explained. "So you don't look soft."

"Thanks," Padraig said with a grin, and pressed a few coins into Jared's hand. "For your trouble."

"Fifty silver? Well, thank you, Warden! You just give me a shout if you want anything. I'll be out back, sweeping up."

"Right you are," Padraig replied, looking up at the stairs as five men noisily made their way down.

When the Wardens, Ambrose, and his fellow Templars had first arrived at Lake Calenhad from Vigil's Keep, Padraig - on Varel's instructions - had sneaked into the inn. It was well known that hired swords and mercenaries frequented the Spoiled Princess, and on that day, Padraig had been in luck. A mercenary group, calling themselves The Guild of Justice, was staying at the inn. Padraig had bought them a round of drinks and made a proposal to them; he would pay for their bed, board and booze for a further week if they would assist in the event of any trouble at the Tower. He didn't need to provide details – they didn't ask, and accepted immediately. He also promised them a flat fee of ten sovereigns, payable only in the event they _were_ needed.

The Guild of Justice, however, did not quite live up to its worthy moniker. It was a very small Guild - consisting of only five members - each of whom were as thick as two short planks. Cold, hard coin, and not some nobler goal of righting wrongs, or defending innocents, seemed to be the Guild's primary motivator, but as all five members were big, strapping lads, each appearing handy with a sword, it mattered little.

"Hey! It's Warren!" one of the men called out as they joined Padraig at the table. "How are you, mate?" he asked, offering his hand for Padraig to shake.

"It's not Warren, you twit," said one of his fellow Guild members. "It's _Warden_. He's a Grey Warden, remember?"

"Warden Warren? That'd get me tongue-tied, that would," the first man said with a perplexed expression.

"No! His name's not…oh, forget it," the second man replied in exasperation.

"It doesn't matter," Padraig said with a charming smile. "I'm here because it appears I will need your services after all."

"Right, and you promised us ten sovereigns for our services, didn't you?"

"I did indeed," Padraig confirmed. "Here's what I want you to do – come across the Lake with me to the Tower…"

"Ah - you want some of them Templars bashed, do you?" one of the men asked.

"Maybe," Padraig answered. "I really don't know what will happen, yet. We're going to confront some people, and there may be resistance to that – that is where you will come in. However, we may yet get help – like I said, there's no way of knowing which way things will go."

The members of the Guild looked confused, and one of them scratched his head. "But how will we know who to bash and who not to?" he asked. "Them Templars all look the same to me."

"Just stay close to me, and listen carefully to what is happening," Padraig explained. "It will become obvious who, if anyone, needs bashing."

The Guild members nodded and mumbled to themselves between swigs of ale. "One thing I want to make absolutely clear is that there is to be _no killing_ whatsoever," Padraig said firmly.

"No killing?" asked the man who appeared to be the Guild's leader. "But I thought that's what you were hiring us for!"

"No – I'm hiring you to look menacing, do a bit of shouting, and possibly restrain or subdue anyone who gets out of line. No killing," Padraig repeated.

"You're paying us ten sovereigns to _subdue_ people?" the leader asked.

"That's right," said Padraig.

The men laughed. "Well, that's an easy job if ever I heard one!" one of them remarked. "This'll be a piece of piss!"

"Don't underestimate the Templars," Padraig said gravely. "And don't get careless; trust me, if you kill one of them, you won't leave the Tower alive – either that, or you'll be thrown in the mages prison. And, given a choice, I'd rather be dead."

~x~X~x~

Wilfred slid across the hatch in the wooden door and peered inside the cell. Squinting, he could just about make out the prisoner, who sat on his cot with his knees drawn up to his chest, his head buried in his arms which were folded around them.

"Grub's up," said Wilfred, pushing a tin plate and mug onto the small ledge inside the door. The prisoner didn't respond. "Hoy! Knight-Commander!" he hissed, wary of being heard using the prisoner's title. Still, the prisoner did not acknowledge him, but Wilfred fancied he could see his shoulders trembling in the gloom.

Wilfred tutted to himself, and for a moment was unsure of what to do. He'd worked at Aeonar for five long years – a punishment, as he saw it, for not taking his studies seriously enough before he took his final vows. His job had been easy when he'd first started – then, only maleficars and apostates were admitted to the prison, but since Grand Cleric Candida had come to power after the Blight, more and more Templars and Chantry initiates were being incarcerated there. Even two civilians had been imprisoned recently, both convicted of heresy after speaking out publicly against the Chantry.

He felt a pang of sadness as he looked through the hatch; he had no idea of what the Knight-Commander had been convicted of – mere turnkeys such as himself were not privy to such information – but surely he didn't deserve this fate?

"Ser!" he whispered through the hatch. Still the prisoner did not respond. As Wilfred's eyes became accustomed to the poor light within the cell, he was by now certain that the prisoner's shoulders and upper body were trembling violently, either through cold, muscle spasms due to lyrium withdrawal, or because he was weeping; perhaps all three.

Wilfred glanced around furtively and sorted through his bunch of keys, finally finding the key to cell 21. He unlocked the door, entered, and quietly closed the door behind him. Placing a handkerchief over his nose and mouth to obscure the foul odour within, he set the plate and mug down on the cot and patted one of Smyth's shoulders. "Ser," he whispered, "please, I don't have much time."

Smyth groaned as he wearily lifted his head, and it took a few moments for him to focus on the Templar who now knelt at the side of his cot. "Are-are you here to rescue me?" he gasped, his voice cracked and harsh. "Are you here to take me home?"

Wilfred, unsure of what to say in reply, didn't answer; instead, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small phial containing blue liquid. He unscrewed the cap, poured a few drops into the mug, and pushed it into Smyth's trembling hands, suppressing the urge to gag as he spotted a puddle of vomit in the corner.

"Drink up, ser," he said quietly, replacing his handkerchief over his mouth. "It'll give you strength. I have to go."

"Am I dreaming?" Smyth asked Wilfred. "Are you really here? I-I had a dream that my friend came to rescue me…it seemed so real, but when I awoke, I was still here." Smyth shook his head and stared at the wall ahead. "I don't know what's real anymore," he said softly. "Everything seems so…so strange, now."

"Please, drink your water, ser," Wilfred urged as he headed for the door. "I really have to go."

"Please, just let me touch you," Smyth pleaded, holding his hand out.

Wilfred took a step over to Smyth and clasped his hand. "I'm real," he said. "Now, drink your water." He released Smyth's hand and exited the cell, closing and locking the door behind him.

"Thank you, friend," Smyth said to himself, placing the mug to his lips. "I will."

~x~X~x~

"Ser, I'm telling you, we have now completed two thorough searches of this floor, and Warden Howe is nowhere to be seen," said one of the Templars sent to search for Nathaniel.

"He _cannot _have left this floor," said Talbot, who by now had started to pace agitatedly. "He would have had to pass several of the men, and surely some of them would have spotted him – even if he was concealed. Unless…unless he got through a window."

Ser Lucy shook his head. "There's no way he could survive a drop like that. The outer walls are sheer, and there is nothing to grab on to. He must have found another way off the floor."

"Extend the search," Talbot commanded his fellow knights. "I want every man out of bed and involved in the search. Begin on the first floor and work upwards." The search party reluctantly headed away, some mumbling about wanting to go to bed.

"What about the basement?" Lucy suggested.

"He can't get into the basement," said Talbot. "It's double-locked, and nobody has the keys but us. Besides, we confiscated Howe's lock picking tools."

"Well, he got out of his room, didn't he?" Lucy answered.

"I think it's fairly obvious he had help," Talbot muttered in a quiet aside. "Those men are all for questioning when they return."

"Still, I think it prudent to check the basement, especially with _Varel_ down there," Lucy said, obviously still annoyed at Talbot's actions.

"Not so fast," said a commanding voice from the end of the corridor. Lucy and Talbot looked around to see Knight-Lieutenant Ambrose approaching with his sword drawn, accompanied by five large, swarthy men. Padraig followed close behind with a fat grin on his face. "Where are you men going?" Ambrose asked the startled search party as they set eyes on him and his companions.

"We're going to search for Warden Howe," one of them said cautiously. Ambrose shook his head and gestured for the knights to return to where Lucy and Talbot stood; confused and uncertain of what to do, they took one look at the scowling Guild Of Justice and wisely complied.

"Brought some friends to visit, have you, Ambrose?" Talbot asked nonchalantly as they approached; Lucy, however, had the look of a deer caught in the sights of a hunter's crossbow.

Ambrose halted in front of Lucy and Talbot, unable to hide his disgust as he addressed them. "Adrian Lucy and Gideon Talbot, I hereby place you under arrest…"

"_You _place _us _under arrest?" Talbot laughed arrogantly. "On the contrary, it is I who is placing _you _ under arrest – I think it is fairly obvious who helped Howe escape, is it not?" he said to the search party, which, comprising a dozen men, easily outnumbered The Guild Of Justice. "After all, he has just prevented you from continuing your search!"

"I did not need to aid Warden Howe in his escape – he managed that quite well on his own," Ambrose answered.

"Just say the word, Warden, and we'll knock these jumped-up berks down to size!" one of the Guild Of Justice offered. Padraig groaned and rolled his eyes.

"You see - he is in collusion with the Wardens!" Talbot exclaimed, "and he has brought a band of thugs into _our _Tower! This misunderstanding could have been settled with words, but he wants only bloodshed!"

"Don't let him manipulate you!" said Padraig, stepping forward.

"Seize that mage!" Talbot ordered. "He is an apostate who has not yet undertaken the harrowing, and should not even be in here! He could turn into an abomination at any moment!"

Some, but not all, of the Templars in the search party hesitantly stepped forward.

"Do not touch him," Ambrose counter-ordered, holding his sword aloft. "He is a Grey Warden, and is therefore an honoured guest within these walls."

The Templars in the search party halted, torn between their fear of Lucy and Talbot, and their respect for Ambrose.

Talbot walked forward and stood toe-to-toe with Ambrose. "Do as I say," he said to the search party, while fixing Talbot with a glare. "If you do not, there will be consequences."

"Whatever threats this man has made against you are hollow and without merit," Ambrose said to the Templars. "He has not the authority to carry them out – do not fear him."

"But, Ambrose – they answer to the Grand Cleric!" one of the Templars said anxiously.

"_I_ do not answer to the Grand Cleric," Ambrose said resolutely. "I answer only to our lady Andraste, whose divine teachings you have befouled with your immoral and iniquitous designs!" he said to Lucy and Talbot. "What we do in this life will be judged when we depart it. I will no longer stand idly by as you condemn an innocent man, while all who could acquit him mysteriously vanish. You are greedy, indolent, corrupt and black-hearted, and have much to fear when you stand before Her; I await my day of judgement with a full heart."

He turned to the other Templars. "I am not free from sin, and neither are any of you. Repent, ask forgiveness, and do good unto others, and whatever you have done will be cleansed by Andraste's purifying flame. Even if your actions bring censure and hardship in this life, when you meet Her, if you have repented, you will be pure, and She will take you into Her arms and keep you at Her side for all eternity."

His words seemed to have an effect on the Templars; they mumbled and talked quietly among themselves. A young knight, Ser Bridges, stepped forward and addressed his brothers. "He's right! These two made me testify against Warden Howe – they made me _lie _– because they knew I had sinned. I am deeply ashamed of my actions, and wish to make amends. Warden Howe is innocent – I am certain of that. I will repent, Ambrose – for that sin, and for many others. I place my fate in the hands of our blessed Lady, and no other."

"And what about the rest of you?" Talbot sneered. "I know that at least four of you have not only sinned, but have broken your vows on more than one occasion – two of you, your vows of chastity! No amount of _repenting _will _ever_ put that right!"

"Enough!" cried Ambrose. "These men will be redeemed – because they know they have done wrong. You, however, have shown no remorse for your actions, and are therefore beyond redemption. If any of you men intend to stand against me, say so now," he warned the Templars. "Otherwise, remove their weapons and hold them for questioning."

The Templars hesitated, still intimidated by the threats previously made against them.

"Well, you lot may as well earn your money," Padraig said to the Guild Of Justice. "Do what the man says."

All five Guild members eagerly descended on Talbot and Lucy and quickly divested them of their weapons. "Where shall we take 'em?" their leader asked.

"Put them in there for now," Ambrose instructed them, pointing to the room where Nathaniel had been held, and followed them in. "Where are our master keys?" he asked the prisoners as they were roughly pushed onto the bed by two of the Guild members. Talbot and Lucy folded their arms in a huff and refused to answer.

Ambrose approached the men, removed their key chains and left the room.

"You will have to tell the Grand Cleric of what has happened here," Talbot called after Ambrose, "and there will be plenty of _censure _and _hardship _in store for you when you do!"

The Guild of Justice also left the room, and Ambrose locked it. He removed two unusually-shaped keys from the two key chains and addressed the Templars who stood outside.

"I know you men want to go to bed, but I am asking you to aid me. We have been deprived of our master keys for over a week, and many parts of the Tower have been inaccessible because of it. I need volunteers to assist with a complete sweep of the Tower. A show of hands, please."

To his relief and satisfaction, every single Templar raised his hand.

"Thank you," he said. "I will alter the duty roster for tonight to ensure you get enough rest. Split into two groups; each group will have a master key. Group one, take the grounds, the basement, the repository and the phylactery chamber; group two, the apprentices' dorms, the kitchen and cellars, and the guestrooms on the first floor. When you have finished, make your way up. I want every nook, every crevice and every mouse hole in this Tower searched. I want Knight-Commander Smyth and Seneschal Varel found, _and_ Warden Howe, if you can, but do not place him under arrest."

"I've found Varel," said Nathaniel as he sauntered into the corridor, to many gasps and exclamations from the Templars.

Ambrose held his hand up for silence. "Let him speak," he commanded.

"Varel was locked in a basement cell, as were four of your Templars," Nathaniel informed Ambrose. "They are all with healers at the moment; the Templars were badly dehydrated, and Varel can't remember what happened to him, but the healers said a Crushing Prison spell was used upon him – they can tell, apparently."

Ambrose covered his mouth with his hand and looked troubled. "They are all well, though?" he asked.

"They will be," Nathaniel answered.

"Do you know the names of any of the Templars who were imprisoned down there?" Ambrose asked.

"Two of them I don't know, but the other two were Lewin and Woodcock, who Lucy and Talbot claimed were in the field."

"And Smyth?" Ambrose asked.

Nathaniel shook his head. "I'm sorry. There's no sign of him, at least not in the basement."

"Then there is no time to lose," said Ambrose, turning to the Templars. "Bradley, Casper, take a master key each and take four men with you. Two of you stand guard outside that room, and do not enter into any conversation with Talbot and Lucy. Proceed with your search immediately."

"At once, ser," Bradley answered, and the Templars sprang into action, heartened by Ambrose's confidence and leadership. Ambrose gestured for Nathaniel to accompany him downstairs.

"Come on," Padraig said to the Guild of Justice. "I'll show you out, and I'll settle up with you. I don't suppose we can work out a discount, can we, seeing as you didn't actually do very much?"

"I don't suppose we can," the Guild's leader replied with a chuckle.

"You're a bunch of twisters," Padraig laughed as they followed Nathaniel and Ambrose downstairs.

"So, what finally decided it for you, Ambrose?" Nathaniel asked as they made their way down.

Ambrose shook his head. "It was when Talbot claimed that Seneschal Varel had attacked him. I did not believe him; from what I have seen of the Seneschal, he is a straightforward and decent man. I feared for his safety, especially after Knight-Commander Smyth's unexplained disappearance." He shook his head again and groaned to himself. "I should have acted much sooner," he said ruefully.

"You acted, and that's the main thing," said Nathaniel. "You did the right thing, Ambrose. A little late in the day, perhaps," he added with a crooked grin, "but you got round to it in the end."

"Perhaps you are right," Ambrose replied, and fell silent for a few moments, before giving Nathaniel a curious look. "Why did you break out of your room?" he asked. "That wasn't part of the plan."

"That was something Varel and I planned once we realised Lucy and Talbot were bent," he explained. "When Varel left my room, he would tell me exactly where he was going, and how long he would be. We agreed that if he was delayed for longer than an hour, that would mean something was wrong, and I would escape and look for him."

"Ah, I see," Ambrose said with a nod. "I have to know though, Warden – how _did _you escape?"

"I picked the lock, persuaded the guard that I had been set free – which was surprisingly easy; you Templars really are suckers for a bit of flattery," he said with a cheeky grin, "and then I assumed shadow form. It really wasn't that difficult."

Ambrose nodded thoughtfully, then frowned. "But how did you pick the lock?" he asked. "Your lock picking tools were confiscated, were they not?"

"They were," Nathaniel confirmed, "but I kept one instrument about my person."

"But you were stripped, and your vestments were confiscated as well," Ambrose replied. "I do not understand…"

"I hid it," said Nathaniel.

"Where?" Ambrose asked, fascinated.

"Ambrose – don't ask questions you won't like the answer to," Nathaniel answered, raising his eyebrows.

Ambrose continued to look perplexed for a moment, before a halting exclamation escaped his lips. "Oh…" was all he could say.

A very red-faced Ambrose continued his way down the Tower, accompanied by a smirking Nathaniel and the laughter of Padraig and the Guild of Justice.

"Now that all of this nonsense is out of the way, let's get to the bottom of this," Nathaniel added, and the laughter turned to groans.


	18. The Truth Will Set You Free

_This story won't be updated again until around the 15__th__ or 16__th__ of March – I'm going away for a few days, and then I'll be busy on DA2 from the 11__th__ (yes, we have to wait until the 11__th__ in Europe! D':) Have fun, everyone!_

_A huge thank you to CCBug for her invaluable help with a particular kind of scene that always makes me go to pieces :-)_

~x~X~x~

As Padraig led The Guild of Justice to the exit of the Tower, Nathaniel and Ambrose went to visit Varel, who had been made comfortable in one of the guest bedrooms on the first floor. Varel rose from his chair as they entered, but Nathaniel could see he was not himself.

"How are you feeling?" Nathaniel asked as the two men shook hands.

"A bit fuzzy," he answered huskily. "The healer told me I'd have a headache for a couple of days, but otherwise I can go about my business as usual. Just no star-jumps or gambols for now," he quipped.

"I am pleased you are safe," said Ambrose as he offered his hand.

Varel shook it and thanked him. "I'm glad to see you came through for us, Ambrose," he said.

"It was the right thing to do, although I am certain there will be repercussions," Ambrose replied. "But, enough of that for now. Seneschal…"

"Call me Varel, please."

"As you wish," Ambrose said with a faint smile, then closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed; Nathaniel joined him, and Varel sat on his chair. "Varel – do you remember anything of what happened to you last night?" he asked.

Varel thought for a moment and shook his head. "I was on my way back upstairs, and the next thing I remember after that is waking up in a filthy cell with a raging headache and a few rats for company. Nathaniel eventually found me, and released me."

"Please do your best to remember any detail you can, Varel – no matter how small. I must know who did this to you," Ambrose urged. "Talbot and Lucy may have had a magi accomplice, whose identity must be ascertained. We can possibly narrow it down, though – there aren't many mages in the Tower who can cast a Crushing Prison spell."

Nathaniel winced. "I've seen Gabby use that spell a few times – I'm glad I've never been on the receiving end of it, I can tell you."

"Your Commander is an entropic mage?" asked Ambrose.

"Yes, indeed," he replied.

"Then she is a rarity; there are only two entropic mages here at the Tower, and one apprentice – the magi child, Lorenna."

"You mean Wren?" Nathaniel asked. "How is she?"

"She is well," Ambrose answered, "but in urgent need of a mentor."

"That's what Chauncey is here for," said Nathaniel. "She's an entropic mage, and Padraig specialises in primal. They are both at your disposal."

Ambrose nodded. "I am most grateful – will you please pass on my thanks to your Commander when you see her? I am afraid I did not…well, I am glad I was persuaded to bring them along with us."

Nathaniel laughed. "We didn't really give you much choice in the matter."

"No, you didn't," Ambrose replied with a tentative grin.

Varel leaned forward in his chair and spoke. "These two entropic mages you mentioned – are either of them male?"

"No," said Ambrose. "Male entropic mages are very rare, indeed – the school of entropy tends to favour females. Why do you ask?"

Varel softly rubbed his forehead and frowned. "I remember someone calling me by my name…it was a male voice, I'm certain of it."

"Is there anything else you remember? Did you get a look at him? Was there anyone else around at the time?" Ambrose prompted.

"No, the corridor was otherwise deserted," Varel recalled, "which is why I was surprised when he called me. I…wait…wait a minute," he said, his head snapping up. "I _do _remember something else. I caught a glimpse of his robe."

"What colour was it?" Ambrose asked.

"Dark blue and gold," Varel answered.

Ambrose rose to his feet and grasped his chin. "An apprentice's robe? That doesn't make sense – Crushing Prison is an advanced spell in the school of entropy. No apprentice would know it."

"Perhaps someone was masquerading as an apprentice?" Nathaniel ventured.

"Perhaps," replied Ambrose, with a deeply troubled look on his face. "But that still does not explain how a male mage knew that spell. Healers do not have the aptitude for advanced primal or entropic spells. Primal mages would be _capable _of learning them, but at a huge cost to their primal repertoire – advanced spells take years to master; there are all kinds of considerations – mana expenditure, control, potential interactions with other learned spells…"

Ambrose paused, staring at the wall ahead, a look of horror slowly forming on his face. "Maker preserve us!" he exclaimed.

"What – what is it?" Nathaniel asked with a concerned glance at Varel.

Ambrose began to pace slowly, and stroked his beard. "There is only one way for a primal mage to learn such an advanced spell from another school of magic – by taking a short cut."

"I'm sorry, Ambrose – I don't understand," Nathaniel said.

Ambrose faced Nathaniel, his hands clenched at his sides, and spoke in a hushed tone. "A blood mage would not need to consider mana expenditure, and could learn many of the more advanced spells in a fraction of the time it would take another mage." He moved his hands up to his face, covering his mouth with them for a moment, and then removed them. "It seems there is one among us who is not what he seems."

"Is there any way for you to tell who it is, Ambrose?" asked Varel. "You can sense when a mage casts a spell, can you not?"

Ambrose shook his head. "We can sense only when a mage casts a spell using _mana_. When a mage uses their blood, we cannot detect it unless they are standing right in front of us, and then only with our eyes."

"Does that mean you can't _dispel_ blood magic, either?" asked Nathaniel.

"That is correct," Ambrose said dourly. "We are completely powerless against it." He headed for the door and opened it. "I must inform my men at once – remain here and rest; I shall return shortly. I shall also see if the search has turned up anything so far. Once we know who is missing, I will begin questioning Lucy and Talbot."

"Ambrose – let me question them," Nathaniel offered, standing up. "I'll get answers from them – I guarantee you that."

"No, Warden – only Chantry personnel are allowed to question them; as I told you once before, such matters are always dealt with internally. Only the Grand Cleric can approve an interrogation by an outside party."

"I thought you didn't kowtow to the Grand Cleric," Nathaniel reminded him.

"I am thinking of you in this matter, Warden," Ambrose answered. "We still have to work to clear your name, and identify Knight-Commander Cullen's true killer – I am certain of your innocence, but we must have proof. I will not allow you to put yourself at further risk."

"Why do we need proof of Nathaniel's innocence, if you are convinced of it?" asked Varel.

"There is one incontrovertible truth in all of this, so far – Knight-Commander Cullen was murdered with one of Warden Howe's daggers," Ambrose explained. "That is a fact. As tenuous a piece of evidence as that is, it nonetheless links Warden Howe to the deed. I would be quite happy for you to return home now," he said to Nathaniel, "but I believe a man such as yourself would want to do so only after being fully absolved. Am I correct in that assumption, Warden?"

"You are – and call me Nathaniel."

"Nathaniel," said Ambrose with a nod.

"Might we know your first name?" Nathaniel asked.

Ambrose fixed Nathaniel with a baleful look and rolled his eyes. "Lochinvar," he said through gritted teeth. "I would prefer to be called Ambrose."

"Ambrose, it is," Nathaniel agreed with a straight face, although his eyes sparkled with mirth.

Varel, however, could not hide his amusement. "You poor bastard!" he chuckled, and then noticed Nathaniel's stern look. "Ambrose," he said as evenly as he could, his shoulders twitching involuntarily.

"Thank you," Ambrose said dryly, his lips twisting as he exited. "I shall return shortly."

~x~X~x~

"Right – I've decided. We're playing truth or dare," Anders proclaimed, pulling out a dining room chair for Gabby.

"No – no we're not," she protested, placing one hand on her hip, her other hand pointing and waving in accusation. "It's unfair playing against you – you're completely shameless; you answer _every _question, _and_ you even volunteer to do the dares!"

"I'll go easy on you," he promised with a smirk as she sat down.

"_And _truth or dare _always_ ends up smutty when you play," she grumbled.

"No smut – mage's honour," he vowed as he sat next to her, grinning saucily.

"I don't believe you," she said, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Look – how bad can it be?" he asked. "You're pregnant – I can't dare you to lick one of the horses' hooves, or to eat a whole head of garlic, can I?"

"Like you did the last time," she recalled sourly.

"Have you ever picked your nose and eaten it?" he asked, starting the game without preamble.

Gabby's eyes narrowed further; _that _wasn't a smutty question, but she mentally braced herself for the inevitable 'do you spit, or swallow?' type of questions that usually came from Anders.

"Probably, when I was little," she answered honestly.

"Probably's not a proper answer," Anders said sternly, folding his arms. "_Yes_ or _no_."

"Yes," she answered warily.

"Well done!" he chirped. "Your turn."

"Well, you'll have to give me a few minutes to think of something that might actually give you pause," she said, thoughtfully looking into the distance. "Got one," she said eventually. "Tell me a secret about yourself that nobody else knows. And nothing smutty."

"Blimey, Gabs, I think you know most of my secrets already," he said with a furrowed brow. _Except one – but I'm not telling you **that**. _ "Erm…a non-smutty one? All right, then, but this is between you and me." Gabby nodded. "I _do _miss Nate," he admitted. "_And_ I talk to Ser Pounce. And Zephyr, too."

"That's three," Gabby replied. "Keep going, if you like."

"No, that's your lot…right, my turn," he said with a mischievous grin, rubbing his hands together. "All right…tell me five things you like about yourself."

"Five?" she exclaimed. "I could tell you five things I _don't _like about myself…"

"That wasn't the question. Truth or _dare_, Gabs!"

"Erm…well, I like the colour of my hair," she began.

"No, not physical things – things about your personality," said Anders.

"You didn't state that!" she argued.

"Well I'm stating it now – answer the question, or face the consequences!"

Gabby groaned. This was a hard question; any woman could reel off a hundred things she disliked about herself, but _liked_? "Well, I'm a very loyal friend – there's nothing I wouldn't do for a friend," she stated.

"That's true," Anders agreed. "Go on."

"Er…" Gabby hesitated. There _were _things she liked about herself, but her inbuilt female sense of self-effacement forbade her to say them out loud for fear of appearing conceited.

"You're modest," Anders said.

Gabby grinned. "Are you going to answer this for me?" she asked him. "I don't mind, if you really want to."

Anders shook his head and laughed. "You women – you won't admit to liking things about yourself, but you _love _to be told what's so great about you by another person!"

"Lies – filthy lies," Gabby protested weakly.

"I think not," Anders said airily. "Come on – four more answers."

"All right, then – I'm resilient. Maybe not immediately, if you see what I mean - because, let's face it, I cry at the drop of a hat - but I mean in the long term. I always bounce back, no matter what life throws at me."

"I can't argue with that," said Anders. "Three more."

Gabby was struggling; she'd been put on the spot and her mind had gone blank.

"Come on," Anders teased.

"I-I can't Anders – I just can't think," she admitted with a groan. "Go on – what have you got for me?" She was actually quite interested to see what a 'tame' dare would constitute.

"Right!" Anders said with a wicked glint in his eye. "This is a future dare – and don't think I'll forget about it. When Nate comes back, you have to kiss him – properly, on the lips. _In front of everyone._"

"No!" Gabby exclaimed in consternation. "I won't do that – I refuse! It would be like kissing my brother!"

"You _can't_ refuse!" he said triumphantly. "Ooh…I can't _wait_ to see the look on his face! I can just picture it now… 'Well, I'm pleased to see you, too, Gabby, but I don't really think that's an appropriate greeting from my Commander'," he said haughtily in his best approximation of Nathaniel's voice, and then cackled loudly.

Gabby fixed Anders with an angry glare and nodded her head slowly. "All right – let's see you answer _this_," she fumed.

"Do your worst," he said confidently, his cocky façade hiding the fact he knew something bad was coming.

"Oh, I intend to," she promised with a peculiar smile that Anders didn't like one bit. "Your beloved has been cursed and turned into an animal. To break the curse, and to have your beloved back, you have to mate with the animal…"

"Now, hang on a minute," Anders interrupted, sitting up straight in his chair.

"…which animal would cause you the least amount of psychological damage?" she finished.

"That's a horrible question!" Anders cried. "You know how much I like animals!"

"I think it's a pretty good one, actually," Gabby said proudly, drumming her fingers on the table as he gawked at her. "I'm waiting…"

"You're an _evil_ little elf," he moaned, casting her a filthy look. "Oh…that's…that's just terrible! I-I can't…oh!"

"Are you refusing to answer the question?" she asked hopefully.

"No! I just need time to think," he said petulantly, racking his brain for an animal that was neither cute, nor had a personality of any kind. "Let's see…how about a bird?"

"It needs to be an animal you would be physically capable of mating with, without killing it," she stated.

"No – you didn't say that before…" he began.

"Well I'm saying it now – answer the question, or face the consequences," she said, throwing his earlier words back in his face.

"_Evil_," he muttered, folding his arms with a sigh. "Well, I like dogs, but…no. No, I couldn't," he shuddered.

"A horse?" she suggested.

"That's not even funny," he complained, and buried his face in his hands. He groaned, and looked up. "Cats are nice, and they're clean, too, but I-oh! Ser Pounce! How could I even _think_ such a thing?" He covered his face with his hands again and pretended to cry.

"Come on, Anders – the truth will set you free," she said impishly. "I need an answer from you. _Now_."

"I _could_ give you an answer, but then I picture it in my head, and…ugh!" he growled in frustration. "All right! You win! You're really going to punish me now, aren't you?"

Gabby sat back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling with a smug grin on her face. "Personally, I would have gone for a dragon," she mused. "That would have been a very _manly_ answer to give."

Anders folded his arms and stared at her glumly.

"So you like _kissing_ dares, do you?" she asked with a sidelong glance. Anders' face dropped even further.

"You have to kiss the first person who comes into the hall," she demanded. "Properly – on the lips, and everything."

"Aw, Gabs, come on – it's nearly lunchtime, and the Silver Order will be coming in soon – and they're all _men_!" he whined. "Please – don't do this to me…"

"Well, you might get lucky – one of the kitchen staff might come in first," she said with a reassuring pat on his shoulder as he slumped miserably in his chair.

"Commander!" a voice called from outside, followed by a rap on the window. Gabby turned around to see one of the thatchers from Amaranthine beckoning to her. "Oh, it must be about the stable roof," she said as she rose and pushed her chair back. "I'll be back in a bit."

"No rush," Anders huffed, watching her as she left the hall, anxiously wondering who would be next in – looking out of the window, he could see that the Silver Order were preparing to change shifts.

Gabby answered the thatcher's query and spoke to a few other people in the courtyard, then headed back to the dining hall. She toyed with idea of waiting a bit longer until the Silver Order started to file into the hall, but instead decided to make a deal with Anders – if she let him off the hook for this dare, then she wouldn't have to kiss Nathaniel.

As she entered the dining hall, which was still empty besides Anders, he stood, walked over to her, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"What are you doing?" she asked, confused.

"You're the first person to enter," he said with a boyish grin. "I owe you a kiss."

"Oh, but, I…" she mumbled, and then fell silent as her eyes met his.

"A dare's a dare, Gabs," he said softly, looking at her lips.

"Anders…" she began, and remembered the deal she was going to make with him, but no further words came out of her mouth, which had suddenly gone bone-dry.

He leaned down and softly brushed his lips against hers; fighting the urge to cradle her face in his hands, he then pressed his mouth firmly against hers without opening it, and quickly drew back, affecting as casual an expression as he could, although his insides had turned to jelly.

"There – that wasn't so bad, was it?" he said brightly.

Gabby didn't answer, but looked at him with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open.

"Gabs, I'm uh…I'm sorry," he stammered, hastily removing his arms from around her waist.

She blinked several times and moved her hand to her mouth. Suddenly appearing to snap out of a dream, she took a step back and cleared her throat. "No, don't – it's…I, um, I should…the roof, I-I need to…" she mumbled, then, looking at Anders one last time, turned and exited the hall quickly.

"Gabrielle, wait…" he began, but she had already left. He stood, alone, in the huge hall, for several moments, a deep line creasing his brow as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He'd expected her to laugh, to make a show of wiping off his kiss, or maybe even to thump him – any reaction but the one he'd just seen. Had he embarrassed her? Offended her? Had she sensed his true feelings for her? Had she…had she _liked _it? It was just an innocent peck on the lips, wasn't it?

"What did you have to go and do that for, you prat?" he rebuked himself, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Doesn't she have enough on her plate as it is? Crap!"

Hearing the first of the Silver Order entering the hall, he made a hasty exit in the direction Gabby had gone, meaning to go after her; and then, as he reached the outer door to the courtyard, he hesitated, turned back, and headed for his room instead.


	19. Baby Steps

_Sorry for the very late update - DA2 took over, and then this site decided to stop allowing stories to be updated. Thanks to Nithu for a way around that, and also for help with the Schleets ;-) Also, best wishes and much love to Shakespira. xx_

~x~X~x~

A strange sense of calm and orderliness had settled over Vigil's Keep. The Silver Order and the Vigil's Guard continued their patrols as usual, and the domestic staff went about their duties with their usual routine and efficiency, but something was wrong: things were _too _orderly. There was none of the usual laughter ringing through the halls, no bickering, shouting or swearing, and no errant bolts of lightning 'accidentally' being fired by one mage at another.

To most of the Keep's staff, it appeared that Commander Surana and Warden Amell had fallen out with each other. The two mages, who were normally joined at the hip, had not been seen together since earlier that morning. Anders was tetchy, even by his usual standards; Gabby had hardly emerged from her office at all, and now, as supper time approached, the Keep's personnel were beginning to speculate as to what had actually happened.

"I reckon they've had a lover's tiff," Thora, one of the domestic staff, hypothesised. "I mean, there must be something wrong – aren't they supposed to be getting hitched? So why haven't they?"

One of her colleagues, Hannah, offered her opinion as the two women stood outside the scullery. "Well, I heard they _have _to get married," she said with a disapproving frown. "Now, that can't make for a good start to a relationship, can it?"

"What, you mean she's up the duff?" Thora asked with a wide-eyed stare.

"That's what I heard," replied Hannah, folding her arms. "It's happening a lot nowadays. These young girls can't keep their legs shut for two minutes."

Thora didn't reply, and shook her head frantically as she looked behind Hannah.

"And she _is _a mage," Hannah continued, oblivious to her friend's warning. "I've heard about what they get up to in that tower of theirs. Shameful, it is. Downright shameful."

Thora cleared her throat noisily and shook her head again; Hannah, finally noticing, turned to look behind her.

"Oh, _do _go on! This is just getting interesting!" stormed Anders, who had been listening to the entire conversation from around the corner. "You were just getting round to calling your Arlessa a slattern, weren't you? Or did you mean me? I'm a mage, as well, in case you'd forgotten!"

Hannah had the good grace to look ashamed. "Oh, Warden Amell! I-I'm sorry…we were just, you know how it is. We were just having a joke. We didn't mean anything by it."

"Do I _look_ like I'm laughing?" he retorted, towering over the two women as he stepped closer to them, gesticulating angrily. "You know, you're bloody lucky to be working here! Gabby took you in out of kindness, and saved you from prison after you were caught poaching on _her _estate!"

He then turned to Thora. "And you, of all people, have some _nerve_ to pass moral judgements on _anyone_! You'd still be working off a street corner in Amaranthine if you hadn't been given a job here!"

"No, Warden – it was all me," Hannah explained. "It wasn't Thora's fault."

"I don't _care_," Anders said coldly. "Gabby has been nothing but good to both of you, and this is how you repay her? This is the thanks she gets?"

The two women hung their heads.

"Get back to work!" he ordered. "And if I ever hear anything like that again – and you can tell your friends that includes them, as well – I'll personally throw you out of here with nothing but the clothes on your backs! And _that's_ if I'm feeling generous!"

"Yes, Warden – we're sorry," Thora mumbled as the two women sloped off.

"What is _wrong _with these people?" Anders asked himself irritably, running his hands across his hair and tightening his ponytail. He closed his eyes and shook his head, admitting to himself that there was in fact nothing wrong with them – there was something wrong with _him_. Anders was the worst gossip out of the lot of them, and frequently sat in the dining hall with the domestic staff, listening to their juicy snippets, while offering a few of his own – often heavily embellished.

"This has gone on long enough," he groaned, and headed up the stairs to the first floor of the Keep, into the main hall and down the corridor that led to Gabby's office. Once outside her door, he hesitated, wondering what in Thedas he was going to say to her. "Just brazen it out, Anders," he told himself, "you're good at that." He grimaced slightly as his stomach disagreed with him, and knotted tightly.

"Come in," Gabby replied to his knock.

Anders entered, and Gabby, who had appeared to be staring into space, suddenly became intensely interested in a piece of blank paper that sat on the left side of her desk.

"Gabby," Anders began as he closed the door.

"Oh, Anders, I've been meaning to speak to you," she said, not looking up as she absent-mindedly opened and closed a few drawers in her desk.

"Oh?" he asked, cautiously taking a seat opposite her.

"Yes, erm…I wanted you to…oh! That's it!" she said, standing up, picking up the blank piece of paper and walking over to a cabinet set against the far wall, next to Varel's desk. She stood with her back to him, opened the cabinet, and began shuffling through some files.

"You wanted me to what?" he asked.

"Just a sec," she mumbled as she continued to rifle through the files in the cabinet.

"You do realise that's a blank piece of paper you're filing, there?" he observed.

Gabby halted and slowly closed the filing cabinet. "Silly me!" she trilled, turning round to face him but not quite looking at him. "No wonder I couldn't find the file…"

"Gabby, sit down – we need to talk," he said firmly.

"Oh? Am I in trouble?" she asked lightly, once again taking her seat.

"No, but I think I might be," he answered with a heavy sigh.

"Why? What's wrong?" she asked with genuine concern, wondering if something _else _had happened that day.

Anders sighed again, and leaned forward, placing his clasped hands on the desk. "About earlier on, when I…when I kissed you…"

"Oh, _that_," she replied a little too quickly. "Well, as you said, Anders – a dare's a dare! You're not in trouble for _that_."

"I shouldn't have done it," he admitted. "You-well, you're still getting over Cullen, and…it was completely inappropriate, Gabs. I'm sorry."

Gabby's face fell a little, and she stared glumly at the desk. "It's all right, Anders," she said quietly, "there's no need to feel bad about it. You just took me by surprise, that's all. I should apologise to _you_ for running off like that."

"No – I completely understand," he replied. "I guess there's a lesson to be learned from all of this, eh?"

"What's that?" she asked, looking up at him with a hesitant smile.

"_Never _play truth or dare with Anders again," he advised with a lop-sided grin. "Something _always_ goes wrong. Remember that time I dared Oghren to light one of his farts, and his beard caught fire instead?"

Gabby threw her head back and her shoulders trembled with genuine laughter. "How could I forget! And the funniest thing was that he didn't remember any of it the following morning, and wondered why half of his beard had been cut off!"

"Do you think we should tell him?" Anders asked with a chuckle.

"No – it _was _a few months ago," she answered. "He'd probably think it was another one of your wind-ups, like the _Schleets_. That was just cruel, Anders. He still checks under his bed for them."

"Does he?" Anders asked, his eyes lighting up at the fact that someone had actually fallen for one of his tall stories.

She nodded her head. "Anyway," she said breezily, waving her hand dismissively, "don't worry about it. Call it a practise kiss for our wedding day."

"Uh?" he grunted ineloquently.

"Well, we'll have to kiss when we get married, or people will wonder about us," she said with a small shrug.

"Well!" he laughed, "if there's a reason to kiss _you_, it's to stop other people from talking!"

_Shut up, Anders! What are you doing? Stop talking about kissing – change the subject!_

"Anyway, you wanted me for something?" he asked with feigned insouciance.

"Did I? Oh, erm…yes…no…my mind's gone completely blank," she said confoundedly. "Well, if it's important enough, it'll come back to me."

"Right, you know where to find me," he declared, standing up. He looked at her for a moment. "Are we…all right, then?" he asked hesitantly.

"Of course we are!" she answered brightly with a dazzling smile.

"Good…well, I'll let you get on," he said, heading for the door. "You coming out for supper in a bit?"

She nodded, and Anders exited the office and closed the door. He stood outside and puffed his cheeks out in a heavy sigh. "That was a close one," he said quietly to himself. "You've got to be more careful in future!"

He'd seen that _dazzling smile _of hers several times before. She usually brought it out when she was lying through her teeth to the nobles. He knew he'd embarrassed her, and resolved to restrain himself when around her. No more hugs, no more cheeky shoves, no more brushing her hair off her face, and _definitely _no more 'knocking' on her belly and asking if Carlin could come out to play. No, _she _could initiate touch when _she _wanted to – when _she_ felt it was appropriate. He took a deep breath and made his way into the dining hall, with a heavy feeling in his stomach.

Gabby leaned back in her chair and stared at the door. She'd known Anders for long enough to see through his breezy façade. It must have taken a lot for him to come to her office and face her – Maker knew, she hadn't had the nerve to do it. Something entropic mages like her were very good at was detecting the slightest shift in another mage's mana field – it was said that entropics were even more sensitive than Templars in that regard: Templars could only be trained so far, but she had been born with it. She'd felt the gentle ripples and undulations of Anders' mana field as he'd sat opposite her – he'd been nervous, and his stomach must have been churning throughout their entire conversation.

She'd felt it earlier that day, too – when he'd kissed her. He'd been nervous, then, as well – but there had been something else. His mana field hadn't just rippled, it had flared – only for a second, as their lips had touched, but what she'd felt from him had been unmistakable.

He'd been sexually aroused.

Gabby knew that Anders had been around a bit, and she was aware that he had a strong libido –evident from his countless solitary trips to Amaranthine, although they had become much less frequent lately. Perhaps he had become embarrassed at the constant teasing from Oghren when he went into town to 'get his rocks off', and had decided to curb his visits – only to feel a surge of unsated lust when he had kissed her? Or, perhaps…

"No," she said to herself, shaking her head. "Don't be so silly."

Anders probably wasn't even aware that Gabby could tell – healers, although having the greatest control over their magic and emotions – were in fact the worst at detecting changes in other mages' mana fields, unless the emotion felt was quite a strong or negative one. Entropics were particularly attuned to the emotions of other mages, and even to those of non-magi to some extent – some older entropic mages were even capable of reading minds, although that was exceptionally rare, and she'd only ever heard of one mage who'd had that talent.

Gabby had never opened herself emotionally to Anders – she'd never needed to, as he was like an open book. She'd only ever done it with Nathaniel – during the early days, when he'd been so closed and hard to read. All she'd had to do was extend her mana field to encompass him – something a non-magi or non-Templar would never detect, and perhaps a healer wouldn't, either.

Although she hadn't been able to read Nathaniel in the same way she could a mage, as he had no mana field, she'd been able to detect changes to his heart rate, his temperature and his breathing, which, in effect, could tell her if he was lying or if something had made an emotional impact on him. It had given her a great insight into Nathaniel's moods and motivations during his difficult transition from being a disgraced nobleman to a Grey Warden, and had been instrumental in getting him to finally open up.

Gabby rose and made her way to the dining hall to take Anders up on his invitation of joining him for supper. She decided that she'd open her mana field to him, and see if he noticed – if not, she would leave it open around him from now on. She had to know if what she suspected – or was that imagined? - was true.

She entered the dining hall and sat opposite Anders at a small table, ignoring a few sly looks from some of the Keep's staff. Two goblets and an unopened bottle of wine sat on the table, as well as several plates of food.

"Not very subtle, are they?" Anders whispered, pushing a platter of cold meats and pickles over to her.

She smiled and shook her head, while piling food onto her plate. "Let them talk, it doesn't bother me."

"Oh, crap!" Anders suddenly exclaimed. "I completely forget – sorry, Gabs." He rose and made his way over to the kitchen, leaving a confused Gabby at the table.

He returned bearing a pitcher of ginger ale. "I completely forget – you can't have wine – sorry," he said as he filled her goblet and took his seat.

Gabby sat back in her chair and cocked her head to the side. "You know, Anders – sometimes your kindness astonishes me."

A strange smile appeared on his face and she felt it again: that rippling of his mana field. "Just taking care of the boss," he replied with a wink. "It got me promoted, didn't it?"

"Temporarily," she corrected him, laughing at his sour look.

As the two of them began to eat, Gabby decided to try to extend her mana field around him. It was very easy to do – almost as natural as breathing. Anders paused for a moment, and from the corner of her eye, she spotted Meredith and Martin – who were sat at one of the larger tables – look up sharply in her direction.

The practice – which was known in the Circle Tower as 'esoteric descrying,' was actively discouraged by the Templars, and it gave some of them yet one more reason to distrust entropic mages - who the Templars kept a particularly close eye on – as entropics were the only group of mages who seemed to use it. Many of the mages, too, were not keen on being 'scanned,' as they called it, seeing it as an invasion of their privacy. Gabby felt a slight pang of guilt as her eyes met Anders', and wondered if _he_ would approve of what she was doing.

"You're staring at me, you know," he said with a grin, and Gabby felt it again: that rippling, that nervousness, but this time she felt it very strongly, as she had now encompassed him within her mana field, which he seemed not to have noticed. She perceived that he was perspiring a little, and that his heart was beating fast.

"Oh, sorry, Anders – I was just daydreaming, and must have been looking in your direction," she replied – not a lie, as her mind _had_ wandered.

"Were you daydreaming about me?" he asked cheekily, and Gabby felt a ripple once again. "You don't have to, you know – I'm right in front of you!"

She smiled warmly at her friend and shook her head. "Sorry – my mind just wandered for a bit, that's all."

"Daydreaming's great, isn't it?" Anders remarked inanely with his mouth full of food, and she felt his mana field settle down.

"It certainly is, Anders," she agreed, glancing over at Meredith and Martin, who immediately directed their gazes to their plates. She would have to be careful – she didn't think the Templars would say anything, but if she 'scanned' Anders while Agnes or Gillespie were around, they would know exactly what she was up to, and may mention it to him. Clemence, who was also a healer, probably wouldn't notice.

"It certainly is," she repeated.


	20. Levity And Frustration

_A/N: It has been pointed out to me that one of the male Templars in this story – Meredith – has a girl's name. Since KC Meredith's appearance in DA2, some of you may be wondering the same thing, so just to clarify – I research all of my OCs' names, and Meredith was a popular name for girls __**and **__boys in medieval England, upon which Ferelden is based. So now you know – even if you didn't want to :-)_

~x~X~x~

After supper, Anders, Gillespie, Martin and Meredith met up in Anders' room, as they had planned a trip into the fade. It had been two days since Anders had last spoken to Cullen, and he felt that by now the former Knight-Commander had had ample time to speak to the others who had found themselves trapped in the fade with him.

"We're just waiting for Gabby," Anders announced as he and Gillespie lay down on his bed. Deciding he was in the mood for some fun, he cast a surreptitious glance at Meredith and Martin, chuckled to himself, and took Gillespie's hand.

The elven apostate shot him a wary look. "Oy – don't get any ideas, Anders," he warned. "I know all about you Circle mages."

Anders rolled his eyes. "Look – there has to be _some _physical contact between us – would you rather I hold your balls, instead? No? Then stop whining!"

"Well, you don't _have_ to hold my hand until Gabby gets here," Gillespie protested, trying to remove his hand from Anders' grasp, but Anders held firmly onto it and sidled closer to the elf.

"That's right – I don't have to, but I _want _to," he purred, with a saucy wink. "It _has _been a while, you know…"

"Piss off, you dirty bastard!" Gillespie shouted, unable to stop himself from laughing as he attempted to wriggle free. "Hey – don't touch my ear!" he warned as Anders moved closer.

Anders released the elf's hand and sat up on the bed. "Hey – you may be able to answer a question for me," he said as Gillespie moved away from him to the edge of the bed. "Is it true what they say about elves' ears?"

"I don't know, Anders – what _do _they say about elves' ears? And who are 'they,' come to think of it?"

"Come on, it's said that elves' ears are as sensitive as a…_you know_…that little bit of _skin_ that ladies have. Especially the tips of the ears."

"Why are you asking me?" Gillespie queried, as a very red-faced Meredith turned away from them and cleared his throat. "Surely you and Gabby have…unless she's one of those elves who don't _like _having their ears played with, although I can't imagine why _any_ elf would dislike that."

"So it _is _true," Anders said thoughtfully, his mouth slowly breaking into a grin. An embarrassed Meredith quickly walked over to the door and looked down the corridor to see if Gabby was on her way.

"Is she coming?" Martin asked, also looking a little flushed.

"Not yet," Meredith answered, staying next to the open door.

Anders whispered something to Gillespie and the elven mage glanced at the embarrassed Templars, smirked to himself, and lay back down on the bed, as did Anders.

"You know, with all this talk about ears…" Gillespie said in a husky voice, "…I have to admit to being a little turned on, Anders."

"Really?" Anders whispered, just loud enough for the Templars to hear. "Well, I didn't want to say anything, but…well, maybe after we've been into the fade, we could…"

"What about Gabby?" Gillespie asked quietly. "Wouldn't she mind?"

"Gabby? Gabby will join in! She's up for _anything_," Anders claimed. The two mages did their best to suppress a giggle as Meredith was besieged by a coughing fit out in the corridor.

"No, we mustn't…" Gillespie said solemnly, sitting up and affecting a troubled expression. "We're Grey Wardens and must conduct ourselves as such."

"I don't care!" Anders cried, dramatically grasping Gillespie's arms. "It would be a sin not to acknowledge our feelings!"

Martin folded his arms and shook his head. "Oh, now I _know _you're having us on," he chuckled.

"Spoilsport," Anders complained, sitting up and stretching his arms.

"Overacting – that's where you went wrong," Martin advised.

"You'll have to watch what you say while we're in the Fade, you know," Anders intoned to Gillespie from the side of his mouth. "These two can hear _everything_ we say. How's that left arm of yours?" he asked the grinning Templar.

"It's coming along nicely," Martin answered, flexing his arm for effect; Anders laughed, relieved that Martin hadn't taken offence at his comments made two days earlier.

"Oh, I don't care if they hear us, I'll speak my mind in _front_ of them," Gillespie said with a cheeky grin, and turned to face Martin. "Why don't you just lock the two of us in here, and then, if one of us turns into an abomination while we're in the fade, they'll just kill the other mage, and that will be two less mages for you to deal with then, won't it?"

"That's a very good idea, but it would still leave an abomination for us to deal with," Meredith answered good-humouredly, having stepped back into the room.

"You know, you two are all right," said Anders, holding his hand up at Martin's surprised expression. "No, honestly, you are. I never thought I'd hear myself say that about a Templar, but I never thought I'd be a Grey Warden, either. _Or _that I'd be getting married…"

"Or that you'd be a father, I'll bet," said Gillespie.

"Mm," Anders mumbled, suddenly appearing distracted.

Meredith peered back into the corridor. "She's coming," he announced.

"Come on then," Anders said to Gillespie, reaching for his hand. "Oh, wait – you don't like holding hands, do you? Maybe I could hold…"

"Oy! I'm warning you!" Gillespie shouted, grabbing Anders' wrists as he reached for the elf's ears. Anders managed to free one of his arms and lunged for Gillespie's right ear but was stopped in his tracks as a bolt of lightning shot from Gillespie's hand, hitting Anders on the arm. Martin and Meredith, acting instinctively, lurched forward but stopped when they saw that no serious damage had been done.

"Ow!" Anders exclaimed, casting a quick heal on the sore spot on his arm. Noticing that the laughing Gillespie was momentarily distracted, Anders' eyes narrowed, and Martin and Meredith exchanged a glance as they felt a build-up of arcane energy in the room.

"Two can play at _that _game!" Anders cried, and thrust an open palm toward Gillespie, who froze, mid-laugh, like a statue and was unable to move. The elf's eyes bulged and flitted from left to right as Anders cackled wickedly, very slowly moving his hand toward one of Gillespie's sensitive ears.

Anders felt his mana field collapse momentarily, and Gillespie, freed from the paralysis spell, wriggled further down the bed, out of his reach. "Ha!" the elf taunted, covering his ears with his hands for protection.

"Eh? What just happened, then?" Anders mumbled in confusion, and then, noticing that Martin was laughing, he cast the Templar a dirty look.

"Play nicely, children, or you'll be sent to bed without any mana," Meredith joked from the doorway, flexing his hands, from which emanated a rapidly-waning glow.

Anders folded his arms and glared at Meredith. "Pair of wankers," he moaned. "In your case, literally!" he said with a pointed look at Martin, who burst out laughing and shook his head. "I take back what I just said about you two - you're _not _all right after all!"

"Is this a private club, or can anyone join?" Gabby asked as she entered the room; she had been watching the squabble from the doorway.

"No, it's private," Gillespie teased. "No girls allowed."

"Well the two of you don't look like you _need _girls – not from where I'm standing," she remarked as the two mages hastily shuffled away from each other.

"Shall we begin?" an amused Meredith asked Gabby.

"Yes, I think we better had," she answered with a laugh, closing the door.

~0~O~0~

As the sun began to set over Kinloch Hold, Ambrose, who had been on duty since 5am that morning, informed the incoming night shift of the day's events before they took up their duties. The sweep of the Tower was almost complete: the Templars who had been on duty the night before had searched the grounds, basement and apprentices' quarters, before being sent to bed, and some of the Templars from the day shift had taken over. Only the Harrowing Chamber and a few stockrooms remained to be searched, and, as yet, there was no sign of Knight-Commander Smyth.

"Sers Lucy and Talbot have been taken into custody under suspicion of their involvement in Knight-Commander Smyth's disappearance, the assault made on Seneschal Varel, and for many other misdeeds, of which I do not yet have proof, but I have no doubt that some will come to light," he explained to the assembled knights who stood outside his office, along with Nathaniel and Varel. "We have today discovered several documents and records pertaining to Ser Cullen's death, which had been securely locked away by Knight-Commander Smyth. Those documents should have been produced during Lucy and Talbot's investigation, but were withheld illegally.

Tomorrow I will begin examining those documents, and will start a new investigation. Each and every Templar, mage and apprentice will be questioned: I want to make it clear that none of you are under suspicion, but these measures are necessary to ascertain everyone's movements around the time of Ser Cullen's death – I shall also be making a statement detailing my activities. Warden Howe is to be treated as a guest at the Tower, and is not under suspicion at the present time, although he too will be making a statement."

Several of the Templars approached Nathaniel and shook his hand; he had befriended many of them during his and Gabby's previous visit, and they were pleased to learn that he was no longer a prime suspect in the investigation.

Ambrose squeezed through the small crowd as two more Templars – Ser Bowyer and Ser Hammond - entered the main foyer. "Anything to report?" he asked them.

"Alas, no, ser," Hammond replied. "The sweep of the Tower is now complete, and we have not found Knight-Commander Smyth."

"Then it appears your suspicions were correct," Ambrose said to Nathaniel, who had informed him of Kester's account of having taken three Templars and one mage across the lake almost a week earlier.

"Are any of the magi unaccounted for?" asked Ambrose; the two Templars shook their heads. "Then whoever accompanied them across the lake is still here, and was perhaps complicit in Knight-Commander Smyth's abduction."

"Do not forget that Kester believed the mage was frightened," Nathaniel reminded him.

"That is true," Ambrose said thoughtfully. "I shall ask Kester if he can identify the mage." He then turned toward Ser Hammond and Ser Bowyer. "I want four fresh men ready to depart tonight; two will leave for Denerim, and two for Dragon's Peak. I shall prepare missives to send with them."

"Dragon's Peak, ser?" asked Ser Bowyer. "You don't think that…"

"I pray that I am wrong," Ambrose answered quietly, "but I must consider all eventualities. Please proceed."

Bowyer and Hammond bowed and departed quickly. Ambrose sighed heavily and turned towards the rest of his fellow knights. "As of now, I am assuming the role of acting Knight-Commander, pending word from Denerim or Knight-Commander Smyth's safe return..."

"What do you think has happened to him, ser?" asked one of the Templars.

"Let us not speculate for now," Ambrose replied. "Any objections to my temporary appointment should be made in writing, and will be treated in the strictest of confidence, and considered carefully."

The Templars glanced at one other. "I don't think there are any objections here, ser," another knight answered, and the rest of the Templars murmured their agreement.

"Will you be appointing a second, ser?" another asked.

"No," said Ambrose, shaking his head. "To do so would mean that I have assumed Knight-Commander Smyth's position – I have not; I am merely filling in until his return. Now, if there are no further questions, you should relieve your counterparts: they have worked tirelessly today, and will welcome their rest."

"Yes, Knight-Commander," the Templars answered, and left the foyer, some of them bidding him goodnight.

"Goodnight," he replied, and turned towards Nathaniel and Varel, stifling a yawn.

"What's at Dragon's Peak, Ambrose?" Nathaniel asked.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say," Ambrose replied.

"But you think Tristan was taken there, don't you?" Nathaniel asked shrewdly. "Wait…is that where the mage's prison is? Anders has told me all about that place – that they purposely summon demons to possess mages for sport, and that the Templars incarcerated there are deprived of lyrium…please don't tell me you think he's been taken there!"

"I cannot answer that, Nathaniel," Ambrose said without meeting his eyes.

"Look – we're not going to reveal any precious Chantry secrets, Ambrose! There is a reason I ask," Nathaniel said.

Ambrose looked at him with an inscrutable expression. "Say your piece," he said.

"Well, _if _that's where the mage's prison is, and _if _Tristan is being held there, then have your men take him to Vigil's Keep – it is but two day's travel from Dragon's Peak, whereas a return journey here could take a week. Commander Surana will gladly take him in, and we have healers there – _and_ lyrium."

"Lyrium?" Ambrose asked sharply. "Where did you…?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say," Nathaniel answered, cocking an eyebrow.

Ambrose sighed, rubbed his eyes and yawned. "I do not mean to sound ungrateful – that is a very generous offer. Very well; I shall instruct my men to follow your suggestion, if indeed Knight-Commander Smyth _is_ there. Now, I must get these missives written."

"May I write one to Commander Surana, for your men to take?" Nathaniel asked. "She will be anxious for news."

"Of course," said Ambrose, gesturing for the two men to enter his office.

"When this is done, I suggest we all turn in for the night," Varel suggested. "You look done in, Knight-Commander."

Ambrose took a seat and bade them to join him. "I shall offer no argument to that whatsoever, Varel," he answered with a wry smile. "Tomorrow also promises to be a long day."

~0~O~0~

Gillespie and Anders arrived in the raw fade after being put to sleep by Gabby. Gillespie looked around, taking in the sheer number of spirits housed there.

"You weren't exaggerating this time, were you, Anders?" he commented with a heavy frown. "This is, erm…well, it's a bit creepy."

"You're telling _me_," Anders replied, looking around for Cullen. "There he is," he said, pointing him out to Gillespie. The former Knight-Commander spotted them and made his way over.

"Anders – you've returned," he said with a glance at Gillespie, "and you've brought another friend."

"Gillespie," Anders said briskly, wasting no time on niceties; he had no time for Cullen after his treatment of Gabby. "What have you found out?"

"Alas, no one here retains any memory of the time before arriving here," Cullen answered. "As you can see, though, we are no longer divided," he said, pointing to the large group of people, who were no longer split into two.

"Well that's not a fat lot of use if you don't know why you're here," Anders replied tartly.

"We should know something soon," Cullen said. "The elf said he would return shortly and would explain things to us."

"The elf?" Anders asked, glancing at a similarly-bemused Gillespie. "Which elf do you mean?"

"I do not know his name," Cullen answered, "but he is one of us."

"What, you mean a mage or a Templar?" Gillespie asked.

"No, he is neither," said Cullen, shaking his head.

"You mean he's a spirit?" Anders asked.

"I believe so, and he has been here for a very long time," Cullen answered.

"Well, when did he say he'd be returning?" asked Anders with a concerned look on his face.

Cullen sighed and folded his arms. "He knows of your visits here, and told us he would not come while you were here."

"Why not?" Anders demanded.

"Look – I know as little as you do," Cullen said quietly. "He will not tell us his name, or what he wants with us; he only said that he would have answers for us shortly."

"While _we're_ not here," Gillespie muttered under his breath, taking Anders a short distance away from Cullen. "I don't like the sound of this," he said with concern.

"Neither do I," Anders agreed, and turned back to face Cullen. "Did you feel threatened by this spirit?" he asked as he approached. "Did you detect anything unsavoury about him? As a former Templar, you would be able to discern a demon from a mere fade spirit."

Cullen shook his head emphatically. "I detected nothing unwholesome or threatening about him; in fact, he seemed...benevolent and appeared concerned about us."

"And yet, he will not show himself while we are here," Gillespie pointed out. "Does nothing about that seem deceptive or suspicious to you?" he asked Cullen.

"He said that outsiders should not be involved," said Cullen, holding his hand up to stop Anders' question. "Involved in what, I do not know."

"Can you describe him?" Anders asked.

"He was short, with pointed ears…" Cullen began, and laughed sheepishly. "Sorry – he was bald, and wore what looked to be light armour of some kind; dark blue with a silver trim. He had no weapon. Beyond that, I can tell you no more, I fear."

Anders and Gillespie looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. "Well, I'll come back in another couple of days, then," Anders said to Cullen, feeling frustrated. "Maybe this mysterious elf will have paid you another visit by then. Come on, Gil – let's go."

"Wait," Cullen said quickly, and then hesitated.

"Yes?" Anders asked.

"Who will be accompanying you when you next visit?" the Templar asked.

"Why?" Anders asked with a hard expression, his eyes glinting.

Cullen clasped the back of his neck and paced a little. "Well, I was wondering if Gabby would be visiting again," he said warily.

Anders fixed Cullen with an angry glare. "After the way you treated her the last time? You must be joking!"

"Look – I-I regret my actions," Cullen said nervously. "I did not mean to hurt her feelings."

"Hurt her feelings? That's an understatement!" Anders seethed, his face reddening.

Gillespie clutched his arm. "Anders, calm down – remember where you are," he advised.

"Please," Cullen pleaded. "I want to make amends. I want to say sorry to her."

"I'll say it for you," Anders snapped, and turned to leave.

"No, that's not sufficient," Cullen answered, walking after him. "I must say it in person, or it will be meaningless."

Anders closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before turning to face Cullen. "Look – she's with child, and doesn't need you upsetting her! She loved you, once, and you…"

"She _loved_ me?" Cullen gasped. "But…but she told me we had only been friends!"

"As I was about to say before you _interrupted_ me, you cruelly turned your back on her when she came to rescue you, and you did it again when she visited you here!" Anders yelled.

"Anders," Gillespie said in a stern voice.

"I'm all right," he said tersely.

"I-I had no idea," Cullen said with sorrow in his eyes. "Please, Anders – just bring her here once…"

"No! I'm going to keep her as far away from you as I can! I'm never going to let you hurt her again!" Anders stormed. "Come on – we're leaving," he barked at Gillespie, turning away from Cullen.

"I could visit her, you know," Cullen said in desperation. "I know how – when she's asleep…"

"Don't you dare!" Anders cried, wheeling round to face him again, feeling panic well up inside him.

"I would prefer not to do that," said Cullen, "but it seems that you are the one keeping her from coming here – it should be _her _choice!"

"I swear to you, Cullen – if you appear in her dreams…" Anders began, knowing full well that any threat made against a fade spirit was utterly futile.

"Then ask her," said Cullen. "Ask her if she will come here. If she says no, I will understand, but she must be free to make that choice."

"Fine, I'll ask her," Anders snapped, having no intention of doing so.

"Give me your word," Cullen demanded.

Anders stared at him, breathing heavily and feeling tears prick at the back of his eyes.

"You have my word," he said finally, his voice trembling, and walked away, quickly followed by Gillespie.


	21. Crunch Time For Anders

_I'd like to say a huge thank you to everyone reading, favouriting and alerting, and special thanks go to CCBug, Shakespira, Nithu, Gene Dark, MLoreley85, Little Miss Cuteness and Dark-Huntress Moony for your continued support_ - _it really spurs me on!_

_And a massive thank you to my newly-appointed beta reader Carrie - you are awesome. Hail to the beta!_

~0~O~0~_  
_

Anders awoke to find Gabby standing over him, looking concerned. He glanced to the side and saw Gillespie, who was already climbing off the bed, make a gesture with his hand to Meredith, and the two of them headed for the door, followed by Martin.

"Hey, Gabs!" he said with false chirpiness. "Were you…were you in here, just now?"

Gabby looked around to see the three men heading for the door. "No, I was outside until I reversed the sleep spell…did something happen? Why are you all leaving?"

"Erm, we've just got things to be getting on with, that's all," said Gillespie as he closed the door, leaving Gabby and Anders alone.

Anders propped himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting with his arms folded limply in his lap. Gabby stood a little distance away, unsure whether to venture nearer or not. His mana field was spiking; a jagged, discordant energy rolled off him, filling the room with static, and Gabby patted down her hair as she felt a few strands lift away from her head. She could sense from their taint that one of the Wardens had remained outside the door, and guessed it was one of the Templars, anxious of Anders' agitation. She quickly extended her mana field around him, hoping to get a better understanding of his distress.

He looked up at her, and, from the expression on her face, he knew she could feel it. "I'm all right, Gabs," he said quietly, clasping his hands together in his lap.

She slowly approached the bed and sat down next to him. "Tell me," she said softly.

He sighed, closed his eyes and hung his head, his chin resting against his chest. "I, erm…I've done something, Gabs," he said hesitantly. "Something stupid."

"All right," she said decisively, "let's hear it, and we'll deal with it." She felt the spikes in his field soften a little, but could sense the tightness of his gut and the wild fluctuations of his heartbeat: he was panicking.

He stood and walked over to the window, facing away from her. She could feel the hot ball of anxiety deep in his belly as he turned to face her. "I spoke to Cullen," he began. "I…well, I sort of got on a line with him – I was still angry from the way he treated you before…" He hesitated and glanced at her nervously; she remained seated on the bed, seemingly impassive. "I, well, I sort of blurted something out," he told her.

Gabby leaned forward and tried to appear unruffled, but Anders could see the tension in her shoulders and jaw. "Go on," she said calmly.

"I, uh, I might have told him that you...that you loved him," he confessed hurriedly.

"What?" she asked softly, and stood up. "What? Why-why would you tell him that?"

"It just came out, Gabs, I couldn't help it," he explained, taking a step towards her, then stopped.

"There was a reason I didn't tell him that, Anders!" she said in exasperation. "The poor man was confused enough when he arrived in the fade, and I didn't want to add to that!"

"I know…I-I'm sorry Gabs…" he said quietly.

"And I thought it would be easier for me to let go of him if there wasn't _that _added complication!" she exclaimed, shaking her head, as she began to pace back and forth. Anders watched her, at a loss for words; the whole point of keeping her away from Cullen had been to avoid causing her upset, and now he'd caused it himself.

"Gabs, look, I'm really sorry; I wouldn't do anything to cause you more pain," he said. "Not on purpose, anyway..."

She stopped pacing and turned to face him. "I know," she replied softly, and drew a heavy breath. "What did he say…I mean, how did he react when you told him that?" she said in a calmer voice. She immediately felt his mana field blanch and wane a little; he was uncertain of himself, insecure.

He let out a soft sigh. "He was surprised – well, shocked, really."

"In a good way, or a bad way?" she asked, feeling tiny spikes in his mana field once again.

"He-well…" Anders began, rubbing his face with his hands, "…he-he wants to see you, Gabby."

"Because of what you said?" she asked.

"No…he wanted to see you anyway, to apologise for the way he was with you before, but when I told him that…he practically begged me to bring you with me the next time." He moved over to the bed and slowly sat down, his mana field now flat and still.

Gabby blinked rapidly and felt something hot and sharp gnawing at her stomach; a yearning, a longing…but for what? Did she yearn to comfort Anders, or to see Cullen? And what _was_ it she was getting from Anders – was he _jealous_?

Anders stood up again and walked over to her. "Look – if you want to see him, I won't argue," he said with defeat in his voice. "All I ask is that you take someone with you; Gil seemed to handle himself pretty well, as did Clem. Aggie is an entropic so I wouldn't advise taking her."

"But I promised you I wouldn't," she replied in a whisper.

He shrugged listlessly. "And _I_ promised not to spill the beans...it doesn't matter now," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, Gabs – you have no idea how much."

She watched him head for the door; he glanced at her briefly, and then opened it.

"Is…everything all right in there?" she heard Meredith ask from outside.

"Yes, it's safe now," Anders replied, closing the door behind him.

Sleep did not come easily to either of them that night.

~0~O~0~

Acting Knight-Commander Ambrose was up at dawn the following morning, and Nathaniel rose not long afterwards. Varel allowed himself the luxury of a lie-in for once, and found them both in the dining hall at breakfast. After collecting a bowl of porridge and some tea and toast, he joined them.

"Happy birthday, Varel," Nathaniel said with a sly grin as the seneschal sat down next to him.

Varel laughed and shook his head. "You remembered – as I get older, I try my best to forget."

"Well, this _is_ a landmark birthday for you, isn't it?" Nathaniel reminded him mischievously, and Varel rolled his eyes.

"Ah – _that _one," said Ambrose, reaching over to shake Varel's hand. "Many happy returns," he said, and the other Templars at the table also offered their felicitations.

"Thank you," Varel replied, "and in case you were wondering, it's the one with a five in front of it – not a six."

The men at the table shared a laugh, and Ambrose clasped his hands in front of him, leaning forward. "Well, let us hope that today will be a good one," he began. "Talbot and Lucy are being questioned as we speak, although they have not been forthcoming with information as of yet. I am going to examine Knight-Commander Smyth's evidence carefully today in the hope that I can produce something they cannot argue with."

"Knight-Commander," Varel whispered to Ambrose, "is it wise to speak of your intentions in a packed dining hall?"

Ambrose shook his head. "This investigation will not be conducted behind closed doors," he stated. "Everyone in the Tower will be aware of what is happening; all of the knights have been briefed, and Warden Padraig is speaking to the mages and apprentices – he seems to get along well with everyone, and he volunteered. I thought perhaps the magi would feel more comfortable speaking to one of their own."

Varel nodded. "Fair enough," he said.

"Will _we_ be able to examine the evidence?" Nathaniel asked.

"I am sorry, Nathaniel, but that would not be appropriate," Ambrose replied, "as technically you _are _a suspect, regardless of my feelings. If I were to allow you to examine the evidence, then I would have to allow everyone to see it, and that would not do at all. I can assure you that I will be completely fair and impartial."

"I have no doubt of that, Ambrose," Nathaniel said with a nod.

"I have drawn up a rota of interviews," said Ambrose as he rose and gathered his empty plate and bowl. "Nathaniel, your interview will take place after lunch at the striking of two bells, if it is convenient?"

"I don't have anything else to do," he answered with a grin.

"Good," said Ambrose. "At that time, I _will _present the evidence that is pertinent to your situation, and, of course, Varel is welcome to join you; all are allowed an advocate."

"In your office?" Nathaniel asked, and Ambrose nodded. "See you then," said Nathaniel.

"Good day," Ambrose said politely, and left the table.

"Hey – Warden Howe!" said a chirpy voice from behind them. Nathaniel turned to see a familiar-looking mage wearing a bright red robe.

"Jerome…right?" Nathaniel asked, and the two of them shook hands. "Varel, this is Jerome, a friend of Gabby and Anders."

"How do you do?" asked Varel, also shaking Jerome's hand.

"Good to meet you," Jerome answered, taking a seat next to Nathaniel on the bench. "I heard you were back," he said to Nathaniel. "I'm glad that Ambrose stood up to those two castratos – maybe now he'll get to the bottom of this mess, and some sort of order will be restored here."

Nathaniel cocked an eyebrow. "I could swear that's a Senior Enchanter's robe you're wearing, Jerome."

"That's right!" he answered proudly, straightening his robe. "I've been promoted – as have two others. I think in the absence of a First Enchanter, Ambrose wanted a few senior figures the mages could turn to – the only other Senior Enchanters are Sweeney and Wynne – neither of whom are really in touch with the youngsters here."

"Ambrose _has _been busy," Varel remarked with a chuckle.

"Oh, he doesn't mess about, that one," Jerome replied.

"So, what do you specialise in?" Nathaniel asked, knowing from speaking to Gabby and Anders that a mage had to specialise in a particular school of magic before rising to Senior Enchanter.

"Spirit," Jerome answered. "I passed my master theory test only last week."

"So you're a healer?" Nathaniel asked, surprised.

"Yes, don't look so shocked!" he replied with a laugh.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything by that," said Nathaniel, "it's just that you don't strike me as being a typical healer – mind you, neither does Anders."

"We come in all shapes and sizes," Jerome replied cheerily. "Speaking of Anders – how is he? And how's Gabby?"

"Oh, they're fine, as far as I know," Nathaniel answered. "The Keep's probably lying in ruins around their feet, but they'll be fine – they always are," he quipped, and Varel chortled to himself.

"Is erm…Gabby…is she all right?" Jerome asked, pointing to his belly.

"You _know_ about that?" asked Nathaniel.

"Well, I _am_ a healer," Jerome answered. "I could tell while the two of you were here before, but I didn't want to say anything – I wasn't sure if she knew herself, yet, but I think it would be pretty obvious, by now."

"Yes, they're both doing well," Nathaniel answered.

"That's great," said Jerome, rising from the bench. "Well, I'd better get going – I have a lecture to give, and then I have my interview before lunch. It was nice catching up with you."

"Yes, you too, Jerome," said Nathaniel, and the two of them shook hands again.

"Nice to meet you, Varel," said Jerome as he turned to leave.

"Likewise," the seneschal answered, and turned to face Nathaniel. "Have we met him before?" he asked quietly.

"_I've_ met him before, but you haven't, as far as I know – why do you ask?"

Varel frowned and shook his head. "He seemed familiar, that's all. Perhaps I've seen him in passing."

Nathaniel watched Jerome thoughtfully as he passed out of the hall. "Yes, perhaps," he replied.

~0~O~0~

Anders was awoken that morning – or was it afternoon? – by a loud knock at his bedroom door. "Hang on a minute," he said grumpily, disentangling himself from his rumpled sheets and pulling on some hessian breeches. "Who is it?" he asked, his stomach knotting at the thought it might be Gabby.

"It's Gil," came the answer from outside.

Anders paused and frowned for a second, then quickly laced up his breeches and sat back down on the bed. "Come in," he called out.

Gillespie entered, looking immaculate as always; not a hair out of place or a crease in his robe. He surveyed the carnage of Anders' dishevelled bed and hair, and snorted. "How did you sleep?" he asked.

"Badly," Anders snapped, and then sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry. What time is it?"

"After lunch," Gillespie answered. "Gabby was a little concerned, and sent me up."

Anders stared at the far wall, saddened that Gabby had been unable to face him herself.

"She's busy with the nobles," said Gillespie, as though reading his mind. "It's the quarterly meeting today, remember?"

Anders sprang to his feet. "Shit! I'd forgotten all about that!" He placed his hands over his face and groaned. "This is _all _she needs on top of that."

"She's holding her own," Gillespie reassured him. "I think Varel gave her a few pointers. Besides, you're not in much of a state to greet the nobility," he said, sniffing the air. "What is _that_ I can smell? One of Oghren's concoctions?"

"Cooking wine," Anders said distastefully, picking up an empty bottle from his sideboard and waving it at Gillespie. "It tastes like hurlock piss, but Maker, it gets you hammered."

Gillespie watched silently as Anders pulled on a robe and tied his hair back. "I need to shave," Anders said to himself, stroking his jaw. "This stubble's getting too long."

"Anders," Gillespie began. "Do you…want to talk about anything?"

"Like what?" he asked, his head snapping round to face the elf.

"Well, like what happened last night," Gillespie replied. "I think I can see what's going on, and I'm pretty sure _I'd_ need to talk to someone if I were in your shoes."

"What do you mean, you can see what's going on?" Anders asked.

Gillespie moved further into the room and sat in an armchair next to the fireplace. "Look – you can tell me to sod off and mind my own business if you like, but it's pretty obvious to me that the baby Gabby's carrying isn't yours."

"What-what makes you say that?" Anders asked, sitting back down on his bed.

"It was the question about the _ears_," Gillespie answered. "If you'd ever _been_ with Gabby, or any elf for that matter, you wouldn't have needed to ask – trust me, the ears _always _come into play when an elf has sex."

Anders clasped one of his hands over his face and groaned.

"The baby's Cullen's, isn't it?" Gillespie guessed incorrectly.

"What? No!" Anders said quickly. "Cullen and Gabby, well, they never..." he began and then sighed, not bothering to finish the explanation.

Gillespie nodded, resisting the temptation to ask who _was _the father, guessing that Anders really _would_ tell him to sod off if he did. "But they were…involved?" he prodded.

"Sort of," Anders said with a sigh. "They loved each other, but with him being a Templar - a devout Templar - it never went any further than that."

Gillespie frowned. "Then he died, and she continued to see him in the fade?"

"That's right," Anders answered.

"Did he remember her, though?" Gillespie asked. "From what he was saying, it seemed like he still cares about her, but how did he remember her?"

"He didn't," said Anders, "but they spent a little time together, before Gabby and I agreed that she shouldn't go back to see him again, after he upset her."

"How did he upset her?" Gillespie asked, and listened as Anders explained. "But why would Cullen care, if he only knows her a little?" he asked. "Do you think that deep down there is still affection there, which he feels but can't make sense of?"

"I really don't know," Anders said irritably, turning away.

Gillespie watched him for a moment, wondering if he should question Anders further, but decided that it may do him some good to get things off his chest, even if that meant him taking his anger out on Gillespie.

"So, you're marrying Gabby so that the baby will be legitimate, and that's it?" he asked pointedly, and Anders nodded mutely. "Just being a _really_ good friend, eh? You've no feelings for her at all?" he queried.

Anders walked over to the window and looked out of it without answering, fiddling with the ties on his robe. Gillespie rose from the chair and took a few steps nearer to him, stopping a discreet distance away. "Anders?" he prompted.

"I love her, Gil," Anders said softly, relieved to finally say it out loud. "At least, I think I do…I-I've never experienced anything like this before, so I'm not really sure _what_ it is I feel."

"You've never been in love before?" asked Gillespie, walking over to the window and leaning against the wall.

Anders shook his head. "I've had crushes on people before, but that's not the same…_this _is not the same. I had a bit of a crush on her at the Tower, actually," he confessed with a bashful smile.

"Really?" Gillespie asked.

"Yeah," Anders replied. "There were two kinds of girls at the Tower, you see – there were the nice girls, and there were…the _other_ girls, the kind I hung around with. Gabby was one of the nice girls. You wouldn't have caught _her_ blowing some random bloke in a stockroom. I think that's why I liked her. Well, that, and she was pretty, too."

Gillespie laughed. "So, not all Circle mages are whores, then?"

"No, not all of them," Anders answered pensively. "_I_ was, though. I wasn't picky, either." He shook his head. "I thought I was having the time of my life, but now, when I look back, it seems…I dunno," he said with a shrug, "sort of empty."

He turned back to face Gillespie and smiled fondly. "You know, when Gabby and I ran into each other again – here, I mean – I couldn't believe my eyes. Here was little Gabrielle Surana, the red-headed elf from the Tower, all grown-up and issuing orders and stuff. I was such a prat back then that I wasn't really listening to what she was saying – I was too busy looking at her bum. But I've got to know her properly since then, and I _know_ this is different than just an infatuation. I feel so strongly for her, Gil…it…it…"

"It scares the piss out of you," Gillespie finished for him.

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Anders said with a small smile before he turned toward the window again. "I feel so out of control when I'm around her…I'm worried I'm going to just blurt something out and embarrass her. I'm not used to feeling like this about anyone," he confided. "At the Tower, all I cared about was my own gratification when it came to women, and I didn't give them a second thought afterwards, but, with Gabby…well, I guess I've realised that I care for someone more than I care about myself, and that _is _a frightening prospect."

Gillespie nodded and chuckled to himself. "And yet you proposed marriage to her in a blink of an eye."

"Marriage doesn't scare me," Anders said with a shrug. "It doesn't really _mean_ anything to me - I don't think you need an old woman waving her hand and mumbling a few words to prove you love someone. I'd probably have done that for any friend in Gabby's position, but, as you've probably guessed by now, I had another reason for asking her."

"And what about Cullen?" Gillespie asked.

"What about him?" Anders asked, a heavy frown forming on his brow.

"Well, you said that you'd kept Gabby from going into the fade to protect her, to spare her feelings," said Gillespie. "But is there another reason?"

Anders continued to stare ahead, and remained silent.

"You fear that if she sees him again, and if he apologises to her, that her feelings will begin to grow again, don't you?" Gillespie asked shrewdly.

"It would be selfish of me to keep her away for that reason," Anders replied wryly.

"Love _can_ be very selfish at times," Gillespie stated. "Anders, may I give you a piece of advice? You may not welcome it, though."

Anders turned to face him. "Go ahead."

"Well, you can't force Gabby to stay away from Cullen, and if you try, she may end up resenting you. I think she _should _go to see him, otherwise the two of you would be forever wondering what _would_ have happened if she had – and that would only cause insecurity and ill-feeling in the long term."

"But I don't want her to get hurt again," Anders replied.

"She's a grown woman, Anders," Gillespie answered. "She has to be free to make her own decisions, and to make her own mistakes. I can see how much you care for her, but, if as you suspect, she still has feelings for Cullen, there is nothing you can do to stop that. All you can do is be there for her if she needs you."

Anders closed his eyes and sighed. "This is _horrible_," he moaned.

"Love can be painful, my friend," said Gillespie, slapping Anders' shoulder. "I'll leave you to get cleaned up. Think about what I've said – you may not like it, but I think it makes sense."

"I will," Anders promised, his tone heavy. "Thanks for listening to me, Gil – the only other person I've told about this is Zephyr. Not that she's a person, mind."

"Your _horse_?" Gillespie asked, and started to laugh. "And what advice did _she_ give?"

"Piss off," Anders responded with a chuckle.

Still laughing, Gillespie made his way to the door. "Are you coming down in a bit?" he asked. "I asked cook to save you some cheese and potato pie."

"Cheese and potato pie?" Anders repeated, a hesitant glimmer in his eyes. "That's my favourite."

Gillespie nodded. "I know. She's made some soda bread, as well."

"Yes, I'll be down in a bit," Anders replied with a nod, his stomach growling.

~0~O~0~

Nathaniel and Varel sat with Ambrose in his office for Nathaniel's interview.

"I've been over what Lucy and Talbot have already asked you," said Ambrose, leafing through some papers, "but my questions concern your movements on the day of Ser Cullen's death."

"Ask away," said Nathaniel.

"From Ser Redmond's testimony – he was on duty at the main door – you and Commander Surana spoke to Knight-Commander Smyth, and then Ser Cullen arrived, and dismissed the guards, who waited around the corner. You waited inside while Ser Cullen and Commander Surana talked outside, Ser Cullen re-entered the Tower, you briefly spoke to Commander Surana and then _you _re-entered the Tower. Do you agree with this?"

"I do," Nathaniel answered.

"Where did you go?" asked Ambrose.

"I went to round up the Warden recruits – I was told they'd be in the chapel, so I waited outside."

Ambrose nodded, and made notes. "And did anyone see you at the chapel?"

"Many people did," Nathaniel replied. "I'd got to know most of the Templars by then, and they greeted me as they entered or exited the chapel. A few mages passed by, as well."

"Can you give me any names?" asked Ambrose, and Nathaniel provided him with several. "And were all of your recruits in the chapel?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "I was told that two of them were in their quarters, still preparing," he said. "I found Ser Ballard and Ser Richardson in the chapel, and I left a message at the main doors that we would be going across the lake; Ser Willoughby and Ser Bailey were to follow us when they were ready."

Ambrose made further notes and nodded his head. "And then you departed?" he asked.

"We did," Nathaniel confirmed.

"And how long did you have to wait for the other two…?" Ambrose began, only to be interrupted by frantic knocking on his office door. "Yes?" he called irritably.

The door was opened, and a flustered-looking Templar stepped in. "Ser…" he began.

"Tierney, I told you I was not to be disturbed," Ambrose reprimanded him.

"Please, ser," Tierney said breathlessly, "begging your pardon, but the Grand Cleric is here."

"What?" cried Ambrose, springing up from his chair. "But…I only wrote to her last night!"

"She must have already been on her way, ser," said Tierney. "She's just stepped off Kester's boat."


	22. Plots, Schemes And Conspiracies

_A huge thank you to Carrie for beta-ing the chapter (twice) and to all of you who alert, favourite and review._

~0~O~0~_  
_

Ambrose, Varel and Nathaniel exited the knight-commander's office and stood in the main foyer, awaiting the arrival of the Grand Cleric.

"Nathaniel, Seneschal Varel – would you excuse me, please?" Ambrose asked in a polite way of dismissing them. "We shall resume our conversation later."

"Yes, of course," Varel answered, and Nathaniel nodded once.

"Thank you," Ambrose replied with a small bow, and watched as the two men departed, before turning to Ser Tierney, who had alerted him of the Grand Cleric's arrival. "Does she travel alone?" he asked the templar.

"No, ser – there are two knights with her, possibly the ones you sent to Denerim; they may have met on the road. There's another man, too – finely dressed. I've never seen him before."

"Very well," said Ambrose. "Have quarters arranged for them immediately, and have some refreshments brought to the office. Let it be known that all interviews scheduled to take place today are cancelled until further notice. Once we are in the office, we are _not _to be disturbed, except for the gravest of matters."

"Right away, ser," Tierney answered, bowed and exited the foyer.

Ambrose took a deep breath and stood in front of the main door, which had already been opened, with his hands clasped behind his back.

The two knights on duty at the door bowed as Grand Cleric Candida wafted in; she was a slightly-built woman in her mid-fifties, her auburn-grey hair cut neatly into a bob. Her gown was elaborate but plainly-coloured, and she was unadorned by jewellry or other accoutrements. She was followed by a smartly-dressed man, perhaps in his early sixties, with short, grey hair, and a long, pointed goatee. He wore a curious-looking pendant around his neck – a small glass ball containing dark liquid on a long chain - and a satchel was slung across his hip. The two templars Ambrose had despatched to Denerim the night before also entered, and waited patiently at the door.

"Maker's blessings upon you, Your Grace," Ambrose said with a low bow as Candida approached him.

"And you, my child," she replied. "You are Ser Ambrose? The one who wrote the letter to me?" she asked.

"I am, Your Grace," he answered.

"You have still not located Knight-Commander Smyth?" she enquired.

"No, Your Grace – it is my firm belief that he was taken forcibly from the Tower over a week ago."

"I see," Candida answered calmly. "What evidence have you of this?"

Ambrose gestured toward the office. "If you will join me, I will share my findings with you. Do you need to rest, first?" he asked.

"No, my child," she answered, shaking her head. "There is no time to waste; order must be restored to the Tower without further delay."

"I quite agree," Ambrose concurred. "Please," he said, opening the door to his office; Candida entered and took a seat.

The grey-haired man stepped forward to address Ambrose. "My name is Chadwick," he said in introduction, passing a tied scroll to Ambrose. "I am envoy to His Majesty, King Alistair, and I have been granted discretionary powers to act and speak on his behalf during the course of my visit."

Ambrose unfurled the scroll and read it carefully; it had been written by the King himself and was embossed with the Theirin seal. Satisfied that the man spoke the truth, he passed the scroll back to him.

"As you are no doubt aware, ser, His Majesty was once a member of your Order," said Chadwick, "and is therefore taking a keen interest in this…situation. I am here to make a report to the King, and I require access to all files and evidence pertaining to this investigation."

"I understand; you shall have them," Ambrose replied, and showed Chadwick into his office. He then dismissed the two knights who had met the Grand Cleric on the road, instructing them to get some rest. Once the refreshments had been brought in, Ambrose closed the door, and began presenting the evidence he had gathered so far.

~0~O~0~

Finding themselves at a loose end, Varel and Nathaniel sought out Padraig and Chauncey to see how they'd settled in. Chauncey was busy with her new pupil, Wren, so they promised to call on her later; they found Padraig in the library, leafing through a few books. While they were in there, two of the templars who had sat at their table at breakfast informed them that they were about to go off-duty, and fancied a spar in the training yard, challenging Varel to show them what an 'old bugger' like him could do. Varel needed no coaxing, and readily accepted, leaving Nathaniel and Padraig alone.

"How are you getting on?" Nathaniel asked him as they strolled around the vast library.

"Well, Ambrose doesn't have an apprentice for me to tutor yet – primal mages are two-a-penny in here," said Padraig. "He just told me to make myself at home and introduce myself around. I offered to let the mages know about the investigation – I thought it would be a good way to get to know everyone."

Nathaniel nodded. "Do you think you'll like it here?" he asked.

"Yes, I think so," he replied. "They seem a decent bunch. Mind you, if you think the domestic staff at Vigil's Keep are a load of gossips, they're nothing compared to the mages here, I tell you – I've heard some _very_ interesting things."

Nathaniel grinned. "Such as?" he asked.

"Well, besides who's shagging who…" Padraig glanced around and took Nathaniel into a corner. "These sudden promotions," he whispered. "As soon as Ambrose took command, he promoted three mages to Senior Enchanter."

"Yes, I'd heard about one of them," said Nathaniel.

"Well, the general consensus among the mages is that the three of them were pretty poor choices," Padraig stated.

"Sour grapes, perhaps?" Nathaniel ventured.

"No, I didn't get that impression at all," said Padraig. "In fact, not many of the mages here _want_ to be a Senior Enchanter, because it means, in the absence of a First Enchanter, they would have to report directly to Ambrose, and would have to spend more time in general with the Templars, which some of them are not keen on."

Nathaniel frowned a little. "Why do the mages think they were poor choices?" he asked.

"Well, the first one, Bressal, has tried to escape several times, and has succeeded twice – he actually broke out with Anders, once."

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows in surprise. "_He_ doesn't sound like Senior Enchanter material."

"No, he doesn't," Padraig agreed. "The second, Rhys, is well-known for his insubordination, and the third, Jerome, is a libertarian."

"What does that mean?" Nathaniel asked.

"From what I can gather, libertarians advocate a weakening of the hold the Chantry has over the mages – some even going as far as calling for a complete split from the Chantry," Padraig told him.

Nathaniel's frown deepened a little as he mulled over Padraig's words. "But surely many mages feel that way?" he asked.

Padraig shook his head. "They do, but not many of them are openly libertarian anymore. Most of the mages here are survivors from Uldred's takeover – and Uldred himself was an outspoken libertarian."

Nathaniel grasped his chin and his eyes narrowed a little. "All of them, male mages…" he said quietly to himself.

"I can hear your brain whirring away," Padraig said with a grin.

"Well, it just seems out of character for Ambrose to do something like that out of the blue, and to promote such unsuitable people, when he's so intent on restoring order to the Tower," Nathaniel mused, "and to appoint three Senior Enchanters when there are barely twenty mages here in the first place? It doesn't make sense."

"Well, technically, they aren't Senior Enchanters _yet_," said Padraig. "They're on trial."

Nathaniel's head snapped up and his eyes glinted mischievously. "Ambrose is up to something, isn't he?" he speculated.

"That's what one or two are wondering," Padraig replied, "but they don't know what."

"Ambrose suspects a blood mage to be at large," Nathaniel said quietly. "Do you think he's 'promoted' those three to keep an eye on them?"

"It's possible," Padraig replied, raising his eyebrows. "That would certainly be a good way to keep tabs on them."

"You've learned an awful lot about Circle life in a short space of time," Nathaniel said with a smile.

"I think I'm a bit of a novelty," Padraig chuckled. "The mages see the same old faces every day, and they couldn't wait to tell me their life stories. And, erm…"

"Erm, what?" Nathaniel asked.

Padraig laughed sheepishly. "I think I'm a bit of a hero to some of them," he said with an embarrassed grimace.

"Ah – because you're a Warden?" Nathaniel guessed.

Padraig shook his head and laughed. "They couldn't give a rat's arse about me being a Warden – it's because I'm an apostate."

"Of course!" Nathaniel exclaimed, dramatically slapping his forehead with his hand.

"Well, I won't be an apostate for much longer," said Padraig. "I'm going to take the Harrowing this evening."

"What?" Nathaniel asked in shock.

"It's all right," Padraig said, holding his hand up. "Ambrose approached Chauncey and I and asked us to voluntarily submit to the Harrowing: he said he wouldn't force us, as we were Wardens and were doing a service to the Circle Tower, but thought it would put his men at ease and would be a show of good faith for the other mages. He was quite confident we would pass – we're hardly nervous apprentices."

"But isn't it dangerous?" Nathaniel asked with concern.

Padraig shrugged. "Not really, unless the mage is very weak-willed. Chauncey isn't doing it, anyway – she refused, because she already undertook the Harrowing at the tower she escaped from in Nevarra. Apparently she described the ritual in great detail to Ambrose, and he was satisfied with that, and has informed his men that Chauncey is a harrowed mage. Also, I know the ritual like the back of my hand – Anders and Gabby have told me all about it, but Ambrose doesn't know that," he said with a wink.

"Is the ritual the same for each person, then?" Nathaniel asked.

"Not exactly," Padraig replied. "It depends on what kind of mage is undertaking the ritual, but the way it plays out is the same – a demon, masquerading as an animal spirit, befriends you, and tries to persuade you to 'let it out'. Anders said his spirit was a bird, and Gabby's, a mouse. Gabby reckons that primal mages get some kind of squirrel," he said with a shrug. "A few of the templars here are wary of me – I can see it in their eyes. If this convinces them I'm not a blood mage or an abomination, then that'll make my life here a lot easier."

"And what would happen if you agreed to let the demon out?" Nathaniel asked.

"Well, the demon would possess me, and I'd get skewered by the Templars," he answered, "but I'm not concerned. Anders and Gabby said it was a doddle, and they _didn't _know what was going to happen."

"Well, if you're sure you know what you're doing," Nathaniel said with a nod. "Speaking of blood mages – Ambrose is tied up at the moment. Why don't we 'assist' his investigation and do a little digging in regard to these new Senior Enchanters? If my theory is correct, one of them may have been the one who attacked Varel."

Padraig nodded grimly. "Yes, I'd like to know who attacked him, as well – and blood mages give us all a bad name. Let's see what we can find out."

~0~O~0~

After informing the Grand Cleric of his suspicions over Smyth's abduction and current whereabouts, and following a brief interview with Kester, the acting knight-commander moved on to the topic of Ser Cullen's death and presented Candida with Smyth's investigation notes. The King's envoy, Chadwick, had remained silent throughout, and constantly made notes in a book he'd brought along, dipping his quill into an opening at the top of his round glass pendant, which contained ink.

"As you can see, Your Grace, Ser Smyth conducted a thorough examination of Ser Cullen's body," said Ambrose, "and found traces of magic on him." He directed Candida to another report. "Here, Ser Smyth employed three mages of the Circle, who also examined Ser Cullen's body under his supervision. All three mages independently concluded that Ser Cullen had had multiple hexes placed upon him, and a Curse of Mortality, which is probably what killed him."

Candida frowned and shifted in her seat. "And what about the dagger?" she asked.

"The dagger belongs to a visiting Grey Warden, who reported it missing from his quarters two days before the murder took place. I was instructed to bring him back to the Tower by Sers Lucy and Talbot under suspicion of murder. At the time, however, I was not aware of the content of Ser Smyth's report, nor of his - and the mages' – opinions that Ser Cullen was either near death, or already dead, when he was stabbed with it."

Candida remained silent and impassive as she leafed through several other documents; Chadwick also carefully examined the reports and continued to make notes.

"You believe that the Warden was framed?" Candida asked. "That the dagger was merely an afterthought?"

"I do, Your Grace," Ambrose replied.

"It says here," said Candida, placing a report on the desk and pointing to a particular paragraph, "that feelings of animosity existed between Ser Cullen and the Warden."

"That is true, but I believe the Warden had good reason," Ambrose replied, passing her Nathaniel's statement. She took several minutes to read it, and Ambrose noticed a look of dismay cross her face.

"Ser Cullen entered the Warden-Commander's bedroom at night?" she exclaimed. "For what possible reason?"

"That remains unknown," Ambrose answered. "Warden Howe has his own ideas, but that is not evidence. Ser Cullen was not in full possession of his faculties during his tenure as knight-commander and took many questionable actions. To be quite frank, Your Grace, I am astonished he was even considered for the post."

Candida cast a sideways glance at Chadwick, who was busy writing. "May I speak to Ser Ambrose alone for a moment?" she requested.

"No," came the curt reply.

"Very well," she said with a sigh, turning back to Ambrose. "Ser Cullen attempted suicide after Uldred's revolt," she confided, holding her hand up at Ambrose's horrified expression. "All but six templars survived the tragedy, none of whom had Ser Cullen's experience. After he had recovered, I felt that his appointment would give him a sense of purpose; a goal…"

"Forgive the interruption, Your Grace, but how did you ascertain that Ser Cullen had _recovered_?" Ambrose asked pointedly.

"I spoke with him," she answered calmly. "He assured me that his strength had returned, and I believed that his continued service to the Chantry would help purge his guilt over his sin."

"I see," Ambrose answered briskly.

"Please clarify," Chadwick interjected. "What was this 'sin' of his?"

"To take one's own life, or to even attempt it, is an affront to the Maker," Candida explained. "Life is a precious gift, and for one…"

"Thank you – that's all I needed to know," Chadwick interrupted, and made further notes.

Ambrose leaned forward on the desk. "Do you have any idea of what Ser Cullen went through before his attempt to take his own life?" he asked the Grand Cleric.

"He was tortured by Uldred," she said simply.

"Do you know the details?" Ambrose asked; Candida shook her head. "Do you not think you should have read _this_ before appointing him knight-commander?" he asked, placing a confidential report in front of her.

She glanced at him warily and began to read the report; at one point she gasped and closed her eyes. "I have no need to read further," she said quietly. Chadwick held out his hand and she passed the report to him; he read all of it and eventually passed it back to Ambrose.

"This is _quite_ appalling," Chadwick declared with antipathy. "This unfortunate man was in no condition to assume command of the very Tower where he was subjected to…_that_. This will not please the King _at all_."

Candida began to speak, but didn't get the chance. "Another thing I'd like to know," asked Chadwick, "is how Ser Cullen was killed by magic? Surely, as a templar, his resistance to magic would have been high, and he would have been able to dispel anything cast upon him, and disable the mage in question?"

Ambrose sat back in his chair and sighed. "That is a very good question," he said heavily. "Considering that Ser Cullen was murdered in his quarters - which no mage would have access to - and that the magic cast upon him did not attract the attention of the other templars on the fourth floor, I am forced to conclude that the mage had help from one or more of the templars - either in concealing the deed, or in helping to commit it."

The colour drained from Candida's face; Chadwick shook his head and continued with his report.

"Have you any suspects?" Candida asked Ambrose.

"Many of the men had reason to hate Ser Cullen," said Ambrose, retrieving a leather-bound book from beneath the dozens of various reports and statements that were strewn across the desk, and passed it to her. "This is Ser Cullen's diary. You will find numerous examples of his excesses of discipline recorded within, and his ambivalent remarks concerning his actions. It does not make for pleasant reading," he warned.

Candida took the book, and began to read. Once again, after only a few pages, she was unable to continue, and passed the book over to Chadwick. "This should never have been allowed to happen," she murmured sadly. "Those poor men."

"Forgive my candour, Your Grace, but the two agents you have stationed here are supposed to prevent things like this from happening," Ambrose challenged, "so I'd like to know just how they allowed this to go on for so long."

"Agents?" Chadwick asked, looking up from Cullen's diary.

"Two covert operatives are stationed at each Circle Tower in Thedas," Ambrose explained. "As a former templar, the King would be aware of this. Only the knight-commander and his or her second are supposed to know of their identities, but as pretty much only myself, Ser Smyth and the two of them escaped Ser Cullen's floggings, most of the men have worked out who they are."

"Their identities are known?" Candida exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in her chair. "Then they are in danger!"

"Hardly," Ambrose scoffed, hardly able to contain his derision. "Your agents have had every knight in this tower living in fear since Ser Cullen's death. They have gathered information on some of the knights' indiscretions, and, instead of acting upon them as they should, they have used that information to blackmail and threaten the men into testifying against Warden Howe. Now, why do you suppose they would do that?"

Candida slowly rose to her feet and fixed Ambrose with a stern look. "Ser Ambrose, you speak of two of the Chantry's most trusted servants! Do you realise what you are saying?"

Ambrose also stood up. "I have several men, all ready to testify against your _trusted servants_," he said plainly. "Not only have they been derelict in their duty several times – as is evident in Ser Cullen's diary – but they have abused their powers and have done their best to obstruct and pervert a murder investigation.

"They have also done everything they can to remove key witnesses from the investigation," Ambrose continued. "We found some of the knights who were willing to testify in Warden Howe's favour locked up in the basement, along with his representative, Varel, who had been attacked by a mage – in a well-used corridor, with not a templar around to stop him. And finally," he said, walking around to stand in front of the Grand Cleric, "the man who gathered _all _of this evidence on Ser Cullen's death has disappeared from the tower, and his evidence – which clearly acquits Warden Howe – locked away!"

Grand Cleric Candida slowly sat down and remained silent for several moments. "Do you believe the mage who killed Knight-Commander Cullen is the same one that attacked the Warden's representative?" she asked.

"Without a doubt," Ambrose replied, also taking his seat again.

"An entropic mage, then," she surmised, and looked up at Ambrose. "How many do you have in the tower?"

"Two mages and an apprentice, Your Grace, but I do not believe them to be involved," Ambrose answered.

"But you mentioned hexing and cursing…" she began.

"Yes, and Seneschal Varel was injured by a Crushing Prison spell," Ambrose interjected.

"Then why do you believe the entropics to be innocent?" she asked.

"Because Varel identified his assailant as a _male_," Ambrose said gravely.

Candida's hands flew up to her face and she closed her eyes. "Sweet blood of Andraste," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," said Chadwick. "Why shouldn't the attacker be male?"

Ambrose explained as he poured a glass of water for Candida and passed it to her.

"A maleficar," she said at last, shaking her head. "After everything that has happened…do you have any suspects in mind?" she asked Ambrose.

"There are three I suspect, for various reasons," he replied. "I have temporarily placed them in positions which will make them more visible. My men are keeping a very close eye on them."

Candida nodded and rose to her feet. "Ser Ambrose," she said, "when I received Ser Smyth's letter I believed that he had taken leave of his senses. He spoke of threats made against his family, and of plots, schemes and conspiracies. I can see now that he spoke true; I do not envy you your task here, but I commend the actions you have taken so far. I believe I shall rest for a spell, and then I wish to speak to my agents."

Ambrose rose, as did Chadwick. "You will find me here when you are ready, Your Grace," said Ambrose, walking over to the door and opening it. "I will have the two of you shown to your quarters."

As Chadwick exited the room, he waved Cullen's diary and a few reports at Ambrose. "I wish to take these, to make further notes from."

"By all means," Ambrose agreed.

"You have been most helpful, and that will be noted in my report," said Chadwick with a brief bow as he and the Grand Cleric were escorted out by one of the templars.

Once they were gone, Ambrose exhaled raggedly and closed his eyes for a moment.

"You've still got a job then, ser?" one of the templars guarding the main door joked.

"For now, yes," he replied with a weary smile. "I'm just not sure I want it."

~0~O~0~

After polishing off his cold cheese and potato pie – just as he liked it – and several hunks of buttered soda bread, Anders' thoughts turned to Gabby. The hall where the meeting of the nobles was taking place was situated next to the dining hall, and Anders sat as closely as he could to the closed doors; several raised voices could be heard from within, although he couldn't make out what was being said.

Feeling bloated after his meal, he decided to take a walk outside. He stopped between two of the windows of the main hall, and craned his neck around to have a look inside. He could just about make out three of the nobles, who all appeared to be bickering, and Gabby, who sat at the end of the large conference table, wasn't even trying to hide her boredom; she slouched against the table with her chin resting on her hand.

A glint came into his eyes as an idea formed in his mind. He walked back into the Keep and stood outside the doors to the main hall. He wasn't sure whether Gabby would censure him or thank him for what he was about to do, but, as she was angry with him anyway, he decided the risk was worth it for the chance of making her smile.

He ruffled his freshly-combed hair a little to give him a bedraggled appearance, and took a deep breath, holding it in, until he felt his lungs were about to burst, then released it, and crashed through the doors.

"Commander!" he yelled, gasping for breath. "There are darkspawn beneath the Keep! Everyone – run for your lives!"

A collective gasp, and a few curses, sounded around the hall, and, as one, the nobility of Amaranthine shot out of their seats and hurriedly made their way through the doors, some of them breaking into a run.

"I'm sorry to interrupt the meeting," Anders panted, bending over and clutching his knees as they thundered past, "but this is for your own safety! Get yourselves home and let us Wardens deal with it!"

Gabby rose from her seat and calmly made her way over to the red-faced and breathless Anders. "That's funny," she said suspiciously, "I don't sense any darkspawn."

"You don't?" Anders asked, feigning shock. "Wow – perhaps it was the pie?" he muttered with a slight grimace, placing his hand on his middle. "Too much cheese?" he asked cheekily.

She looked at him for a moment, considering her next action, and he saw her suppress a smile as she shook her head at him. "Come on," she urged, nodding towards the door. "We'd better make this look good."

Anders followed her outside, and, in full view of the nobles who were scrambling onto their horses, the two of them took out their staves and cast several impressive-looking spells upon themselves, placing wards and glyphs all over the courtyard. Some of the Keep's soldiers exchanged amused glances; they were used to things like this happening since the Wardens had moved into Vigil's Keep, and wondered what was going on _this _time.

"Maker bless you, Wardens!" one of the local banns shouted from his horse.

"Thank you!" another cried.

"We're not doing it for the thanks – it's our job!" Anders heroically shouted after them, noticing Gabby turn her back on him. "Now, get yourselves home!" he ordered.

"Yes, Warden!" came the answer as the last of the nobles galloped out of the Keep.

Anders turned to face Gabby; she was bent over and her body was trembling. "Are you all right, Gabs?" he exclaimed in panic, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder. She straightened up a little, and Anders noticed that her face was red and crumpled, and tears were streaming down her face. She bent over again and clutched her sides, shrieking, snorting and gasping. Anders beamed, elated and proud that he'd done so much more than just make her smile.

She finally gathered herself, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, still unable to speak for several moments, as, every time she tried, she dissolved into fits of giggles.

"We're not doing it for the thanks!" she exclaimed between gasping breaths. "You're an awful, _awful _man, Anders!"

"I may be awful, but I got rid of that shower of shit, didn't I?" he chuckled. "I mean – they didn't even warn the soldiers! They just took off, and were quite happy to let a pregnant lady go down into the depths and fight monsters. Bastards!"

Gabby bit her bottom lip and laughed again, bracing herself against him, and she wrapped her arm around his back. "Oh, Anders – I can't wait to tell Varel about this: he always has to come up with ingenious ways to get rid of them. He'll be proud of you."

Anders tentatively placed one of his arms around her shoulder and squeezed it. "I'm glad I made you laugh," he said as he smiled down at her. "Come on – you'd better go inside; I bet you could do with a rest."

She glanced up at him and returned his smile, although hers was a self-conscious one. "Let's both go inside," she said, and they started to head up the steps to the main Keep. "I need to talk to you, anyway."

"Oh, of course, Gabs," he answered, feeling his stomach knot.

Gabby frowned to herself as they entered the Keep; she had tried twice to extend her mana field around him since he'd interrupted the meeting, but for some reason could not read him. She tried again as they made their way to the office, and once again was unable to sense anything from him.

"I know what you're doing, you know," Anders said quietly, turning towards her, as they reached her office.

"What do you mean?" she asked nonchalantly as he opened the door for her.

"You're right; we _do_ need to talk," he said as he followed her in and closed the door.


	23. A Beginning And An End

_Hugs and happy birthday wishes to my dear friend and voice of reason, Carrie! Thank you again for applying gentle restraint to my sometimes over-enthusiastic ramblings :-)_

~0~O~0~

Gabby's mind raced as Anders closed the door to the office, frantic to buy herself some time; he was onto her and she needed to think of an explanation that wasn't an outright lie, but not quite the full truth...she wasn't ready to confess _that_ just yet.

"That was hilarious, Anders!" she said with her back to him, forcing a loud laugh and aimlessly moving some papers around the desk. "I haven't laughed like that for ages!"

His silence startled her. Anders was hardly ever silent, and, when he was, it usually meant that something bad had happened, or was about to happen. Her heart thudded inside her chest.

She laid a hand against her small bump, her anxiety making her stomach churn. Realising she'd have to turn around soon - or he really would suspect something was up - she decided a sudden change of topic might throw him long enough for her to think something up.

"Anders, listen…" she said, turning to face him, but not quite looking at him, "…I, erm, I need to tell you something; you might not be very happy about it."

She ventured a glance at his face; it was expressionless, which was better than it being angry, she reasoned.

"I'm listening," he said evenly.

"Do you want to sit down?" she asked, keeping up the pretence while her mind desperately tried to come up with an answer to the question she knew he'd ask.

He picked up the chair that sat on the opposite side of the desk to hers, and moved it round to the side, nearer to her. Gabby gulped and took her seat, as did he.

She clasped her hands in front of her and stared at the desk for a moment. Eventually, she turned to face him; she wanted to at least look him in the eyes.

"I've…I've decided to see Cullen and hear what he has to say," she said with a rueful look.

Anders averted his gaze and nodded. "I had a feeling you would."

"Can you understand why? You aren't...are you angry with me?" she asked quietly, hoping that any minute he would laugh, crack a joke or break wind like he usually did to defuse an uncomfortable situation.

He shrugged. "It's not really any of my business, Gabs, is it? I'm sorry I went on about it before; I was just looking out for you. I shouldn't have got all worked up about it."

"Of course it's your business," she argued. "You don't have to apologise," she said, moving her hand toward his and then retracting it; something that Anders did not fail to notice. "I know how much you worry about me…thank you, for, well…thank you for caring so much."

Expecting a cocky 'well, I'm that sort of guy', response from him, she was dismayed that he didn't reply immediately, but instead examined his fingernails and sighed.

"Yes, I do care about you," he said after a few moments. "I care about you quite a lot, and I don't want to see you getting hurt again."

"I know, Anders, and I can't tell you how much that means to me," she replied, feeling a powerful urge to take his hand, to connect with him; only a week ago she would have done so without hesitation, but she had picked up on something when she _had _been able to read him that suddenly made the simple gesture of holding his hand much more complicated.

"That's that, then," Anders said with a slight quirk of his lips, as though he had tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it. "Is…" he began, and fidgeted in his chair, "…is there something else you want to tell me?"

Gabby hesitated; she couldn't think of an acceptable explanation without resorting to lying, and that, she was not prepared to do; not that Anders would believe her anyway. There was only one explanation she could give, and that was the truth.

"Yes, uh, actually there is...ah, something else. Nothing important, it's just that..." she pressed her hand against her roiling belly and gathered her courage. "I've been descrying you," she admitted quietly, not daring to look at him, "but I think you've figured that out."

"Yes, I have," he replied, watching her carefully.

She bit her bottom lip and stared ahead, wondering what had possessed her to do it in the first place. She was fairly certain that her suspicions about Anders were correct, but realised it wasn't her place to tell him – only he could give voice to his feelings, if and when he was ready.

"I-I'm sorry, Anders," she whispered. "I shouldn't have done it."

"Never mind that," he said, trying to keep his tone even. "Just tell me why. What have I ever done to make you distrust me?"

"Oh, Anders – it's not that; I trust you more than anyone," she entreated, her eyes brimming with tears at the thought that she'd hurt his feelings.

"Well, what is it, then?" he asked. "Why would you feel the need to resort to..." He cut himself off and stood up to pace the room. "Gabby, the last thing I want to do is make you feel bad, but…I just don't understand – I thought we told each other everything."

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly brushed it away, but not before Anders had noticed.

"I'm sorry," she answered quickly, feeling thoroughly ashamed of herself. "You're right – I should have known you'd be hurt by this; I just didn't think you'd be able to tell…"

"That stuff about healers not being able to sense descrying is a myth," he told her. "All right, we're not the best at it, and if we were in a room full of mages, all casting spells at the same time, then I might struggle," he said. "With just the two of us around, though, I didn't have much trouble. The first time, I suspected you'd done something, but I wasn't sure what; the second time, though, I knew."

"Why didn't you say something?" she asked.

"Because I wanted _you _to say something," he answered. "And, to be honest, I wanted you to tell me _why_. When you didn't, I started blocking you to see how you'd react."

He stopped pacing and came to stand at the side of the desk, in front of his chair. "Just tell me," he said. "I won't be angry."

Gabby let out a shaky breath and rested her chin on her hand. "The truth is, Anders, after that time you kissed me…"

She didn't need to descry him to sense the new tension in his posture. "Sorry, Gabs," he said, clearing his throat and forcing a smile, switching to casual mode. "We talked about that, didn't we?"

"It's just that you seemed, well, nervous at the time," she explained.

"Of course I was nervous!" he laughed. "I thought you'd punch me, or something…so, that's why you read me? Because I was nervous?"

"I just wanted to know if something..._more_ was on your mind," she answered.

"So you descry me? All you had to do was ask, Gabs!" he said, unable to hide his exasperation.

"And what would you have done? Made a joke of it? Laughed it off?"

"Probably," he replied, "but that would have been _my_ choice, wouldn't it? Instead you didn't even give me a chance to be honest with you - you just 'read' me."

She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded mutely.

He moved around to her side of the desk and leaned against it. "All right, Gabs, to be honest, I _was_ annoyed. It's just not like you to be so…underhand," he finished with a shrug.

She rose slowly and turned, standing next to him, leaning her shoulder lightly against his. "You're right, Anders; it _was_ underhanded of me. And I wasn't honest with you just now, either. I'm sorry. I promised once never to lie to you, and that's exactly what I've just done."

"What do you mean, you weren't honest just now?" he asked warily, looking down at her, a slight frown on his face.

"I didn't scan you just because you were nervous," she confessed. "I-I felt something else from you, as well."

He gulped and paused, his heart fluttering in his chest as he desperately tried to think of something to say to shatter the pervasive silence.

"Such as?" he asked cautiously.

"I don't quite know how to describe it," she mumbled, looking at her feet. "It was something I've never felt from you before…it was…very intense, and…"

She hesitated, unable to find the right words.

He closed his eyes and placed his hands over his mouth, then made his hands into a fist and rested his forehead against them.

"You know, don't you?" he asked softly.

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke.

"Anders…" she began.

"Look," he said, quickly pushing away from the desk, "just-just try not to think about it. I know you have enough on your mind as it is. If you want to proceed with Cullen, I won't stand in your way. I'm sorry, Gabs; I hope I haven't embarrassed you."

He walked over to the door and opened it; Gabby moved around the desk and reached out, trying to take his hand, but he stepped back from her.

"Anders, stop - I am _not_ embarrassed. Please don't walk away - we need to talk about this!"

He shook his head. "No, Gabs, I'll be fine, honestly; there's nothing to talk about. I really am sorry for this mess," he said with a sigh before plastering a smile on his face. "You go and see Cullen; have no worries about me, all right?"

"Anders, wait!" she pleaded, but he left the office and headed down the corridor, leaving her longing to go after him, but unable to, as she didn't know what she would say to him if she did.

~0~O~0~

After she had sufficiently rested, Grand Cleric Candida sought out Ambrose in his office, informing him that she was ready to see Lucy and Talbot.

"We should inform Chadwick," Ambrose said as he escorted her along the first floor.

Candida stopped for a moment and touched his arm. "Actually, Ser Ambrose, I would prefer for him not to attend while I speak with them. This is, after all, an internal Chantry matter."

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Ambrose replied immediately, "but I would not feel right in leaving him out; I serve Andraste, of course, but I also serve His Majesty the King."

She paused for a moment. "Of course, my child," she responded sweetly with a nod, "you must do what you think is best."

They found Chadwick in his quarters, and the three of them proceeded to the fourth floor where Lucy and Talbot were being questioned; as they ascended, each templar they passed bowed reverently to the Grand Cleric.

They finally reached the room where Nathaniel had previously been held and, as they waited for one of the templars stationed outside to open the door, raised male voices could be heard coming from within.

"We _know _you're lying – stop wasting our time and make it easy on yourselves," one voice said, and was met with silence.

"Who are you protecting?" another voice asked. "Do you really think they will protect _you_ when _they_ are questioned?"

Candida held her hand up to stop the men from opening the door for a moment, and she, Ambrose and Chadwick stood outside, listening.

"_You_ are the ones wasting _our_ time," Ser Talbot said to his interrogators. "As I've already told that fool Ambrose – we will speak to no other than the Grand Cleric herself."

"The Grand Cleric cannot help you now," the first templar replied. "Ambrose has compiled an overwhelming dossier of evidence against the two of you, and you are headed for Aeonar. If you co-operate now, you may get a private cell instead of being thrown in with the maleficars. It's your choice."

"Desist with your empty threats!" Talbot barked. "You have no authority to question us, _or_ to threaten us. We are agents of the Grand Cleric, and only she can decide on such a course of action! And, I can assure you, I can twist that old biddy around my little finger."

Outside the room, Ambrose turned scarlet and his fists clenched at his sides; Candida nodded to the guards, who proceeded to open the door.

Ambrose entered first, followed by Chadwick. The two interrogators stood in the presence of their acting Knight-Commander.

"You are dismissed, gentlemen," said Ambrose. The knights rose and nodded to him on their way out, and, spotting the Grand Cleric waiting outside, they bowed deeply and hovered not far from the room, intrigued at her presence.

As she entered the room, Lucy and Talbot sprang to their feet and bowed. A look of uncertainty crossed Talbot's face; he had insisted on speaking to the Grand Cleric, but could not understand why she was there – he had certainly not sent for her. Who had? Lucy, on the other hand, blanched and shifted nervously, unable to look Candida in the eye.

Ambrose pulled out a chair for her, and offered the other to Chadwick, while he stood. Chadwick already had his notebook, quill and ink to hand as he sat down.

"Be seated," Candida said to Talbot and Lucy, and, exchanging confused glances, the two of them took their seats.

Candida got straight to the point. "I will ask questions and you will answer," she said with a steely edge to her soft voice. "Where is Knight-Commander Smyth?"

"May we speak to you alone, Your Grace?" Lucy requested.

"No, you may not," answered Chadwick, pre-empting Candida's response.

"And who are _you_ supposed to be?" Talbot asked the grey-haired man.

"This is Chadwick, envoy to his Majesty the King," Ambrose answered. "The King," he continued, "as a former Templar and Grey Warden, is taking a special interest in this situation, particularly as one of his Warden brethren was falsely accused of Ser Cullen's murder."

"Falsely?" Talbot asked derisively. "We have ample evidence linking Warden Howe to the deed…"

"And _I_ have ample evidence – _real _evidence, compiled by Knight-Commander Smyth - which absolves Howe of the crime. You are now in the presence of your betters and you _will_ explain yourselves," Ambrose demanded.

"Where is Knight-Commander Smyth?" Candida asked again.

"Unfortunately, Your Grace, it became necessary to incarcerate him," Talbot answered. "He disapproved of our plans to question Warden Howe, who he had befriended, and made threats against us, culminating in an outright attack…"

"How _dare _you lie to the Grand Cleric!" Ambrose spluttered. "I have known Tristan Smyth since we first took our vows together, and he would _never_…"

"He _did_ attack us," Talbot insisted. "He was raving and paranoid. I decided the best course of action was…"

"Should you not have held him here, and consulted with me, first?" Candida interrupted.

"Your Grace – I made a snap decision to remove him from the Tower for the good of everyone within," Talbot claimed.

Ambrose placed his palms on the table and brought his face close to Talbot's. "Would it not be more accurate to say that you _knew _Smyth's investigation cleared Howe, thus exposing the two of you as having been derelict in your duty to protect the residents of the Tower from Ser Cullen's excesses – which the two of _you_ should have put a stop to?"

"No – that is not true," Talbot answered. Lucy remained silent, his eyes darting between whoever was speaking. "We were unaware of most of Cullen's activities," Talbot claimed. "He was cunning and devious."

"Oh yes, I remember now!" Ambrose exclaimed, mockingly slapping his forehead with his palm. "Cullen's infamous flogging sessions – the ones that _every _knight in the Tower knew about, with the exception, it would seem, of the two of you! Cullen must have employed a _special _kind of cunning to hide something like that!"

Candida raised her hand, and Ambrose took a deep breath and turned away for a moment. "He is at Aeonar, then?" she asked, and Talbot nodded.

Ambrose turned back to face them. "Two of my men are already on their way there."

She nodded, and turned to Lucy and Talbot.

"Why did you have Seneschal Varel attacked by a mage?" she asked them. Although no proof existed to connect the incident with Lucy and Talbot, Ambrose suggested asking the question to gauge their reactions, as he could think of no plausible reason for any mage of the Tower to attack Varel.

"What?" Talbot asked with a confused look. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, your friend would seem to disagree with you," said Ambrose, pointing to Lucy. "His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets just now when I asked that. Obviously he is not as good an actor as you."

"Why would we have a mage attack Varel? It doesn't make any sense," said Talbot.

"Why, indeed?" Ambrose asked as Chadwick made notes. "I was there when you greeted us upon our return to the Tower. You were disconcerted, to say the least, at Varel's presence. He insisted on being with Warden Howe during his questioning, and he took steps to ensure you could not sneak him out of the Tower. He ruined your plans, didn't he?"

"Plans? What _plans_?" Talbot exclaimed, his face beginning to redden as his aloof façade began to crumble.

"It is my belief," said Ambrose, "that you intended a sham trial for Warden Howe, using your own version of the 'evidence' and employing witnesses you had coerced into testifying against him. Then, you would have had Warden Howe extradited to Aeonar, and, with Cullen dead and Smyth also out of the picture, you could have told the Grand Cleric any story. It is likely one of you would have been appointed Knight-Commander," he hypothesised.

"Varel was the fly in your ointment," he went on, "and therefore had to be eliminated – put out of the way – so you could implement your plans. What you didn't bank on was that Warden Howe has more wits in his little finger than the two of you put together, and he escaped from his room. I would imagine that around that time, the folly of your ill-conceived plans became quite evident."

Talbot shook his head derisively. "You have quite an imagination, Ambrose. There is absolutely no evidence to support your claim that we had a mage attack Varel."

"Oh, but there is," Ambrose replied with a grim smile. "After I had put on a show for you, and pretended to argue with Varel and Nathaniel…"

Lucy sat up straight in his chair.

"…I concealed myself behind a door up the hall and heard you, Talbot, quite clearly stating that Varel needed to be 'dealt with,' and that you would claim he attacked you – just as you did with Smyth."

"What? You would believe him?" Talbot asked Candida, who remained composed and did not answer.

"To your credit, Ser Lucy, you argued with him," Ambrose continued. "If you co-operate with us, Adrian, you may yet save yourself from Aeonar."

"No! Don't listen to him!" Talbot barked at Lucy. "He has fabricated all of this because he wanted the Knight-Commander's post for himself! And now he has succeeded, he thinks he can do anything!"

Candida spoke, directly addressing Lucy. "Did you employ a mage to attack Seneschal Varel?" she asked.

Lucy exhaled, closed his eyes and nodded slowly. "It was not my idea, Your Grace," he confessed. "Talbot did it without my knowledge."

"What?" Talbot cried, jumping to his feet, his protest swiftly silenced as Ambrose grabbed his shoulders and roughly pushed him back into his seat.

"Keep your seat, Talbot," Ambrose said harshly. "The Grand Cleric has not given you leave to rise."

"I will not lie to you, Your Grace," said Lucy, knowing he was defeated. "I will not add further to my sins. They weigh heavily upon my conscience, and haunt my dreams."

"Was that mage also responsible for the death of Knight-Commander Cullen?" Candida asked.

"Yes," Lucy answered quietly.

"I want his name," Ambrose demanded, "and I want the name of his templar accomplice. Someone must have helped him gain access to Ser Cullen's quarters that day – or was it one of you?"

"No!" Lucy exclaimed, and then lowered his voice. "I-I know the identity of the mage, but only Talbot knows who the templar was."

"I _want_ those names," Ambrose said again. "Your silence puts the Tower in more danger with each minute that passes. Were you even aware that your mage is a maleficar?"

Lucy's face slackened, and even Talbot's features registered shock.

"How do you know this?" Lucy asked.

"Because Seneschal Varel was attacked with a Crushing Prison spell by your _male _mage," Ambrose said gravely, watching their reactions, "and therefore the templar who aided him must also know of his use of blood magic. They must be identified and apprehended without further delay. Now, talk!"

"The-the mage is Jerome, the healer," Lucy blurted out, and Ambrose immediately exited the room, giving instructions to his men outside. Talbot's head fell back and he closed his eyes.

"Please, your Grace," Lucy pleaded, "I-I had no idea he was a maleficar! If I had known…"

"That does not excuse your actions," Candida said coldly as Ambrose re-entered the room. "You, however, have shown contrition and have co-operated with us, and may be shown mercy. Do not be in any doubt, however, that you will be severely punished for your crimes." She stood, turned to Ambrose and bowed her head slightly.

"You have done a great service to the Chantry, Ser Ambrose," she said. "It seems your suspicions about the mage were correct. Why did you suspect him?"

Ambrose cleared his throat and averted his gaze. "Your Grace may find the subject matter to be a little…delicate."

"Have no fear," she said. "I am not as frail as I appear."

Ambrose sighed and cleared his throat again. "Following interviews with several of the templars, it has come to my attention that Jerome was conducting an illicit affair with Ser Magnusson, whom Cullen flogged to death."

"Ah, so revenge was his motive," Candida concluded.

"It would appear so," Ambrose answered, "but I had no proof until now. It will not be easy to ascertain the identity of his accomplice, however; many of the knights had reason to seek vengeance against Cullen."

Ambrose leaned on the table and bent down, his face inches from Talbot's. "I want that name," he demanded, his nostrils flaring.

"I have nothing to say to you," Talbot said, folding his arms.

"Then you will tell _me_," Candida insisted.

Talbot shook his head, having the grace to avert his eyes as he did so.

Ambrose opened the door, and gave his remaining men further instructions. One of them took off at speed; the other entered the room, and hauled Lucy up by his arm.

"Take him to the basement for now, until we decide what's to be done with him," Ambrose instructed. Lucy went along without a struggle, and Ambrose, Candida and Chadwick exited the room, where they talked.

After a while, Ambrose re-entered the room as two of his fellow templars took up positions outside the door.

"Some food will be brought up to you in a while," Ambrose said to Talbot as he walked back and forth. "It's going to be a long night for you."

"You're wasting your time," Talbot snapped. "I've already told you I'm not answering your questions."

"I will not be asking the questions," Ambrose stated. "Warden Howe will be interrogating you," he said, and then held up a hand, silencing Talbot's argument. "As the second-in-command of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, and as a victim of your crimes, it seems appropriate."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Talbot scoffed. "That's desperate even for you, Ambrose – the Grand Cleric would never sanction the interrogation of a templar by an outsider!"

"You are correct, of course," Ambrose replied crisply. "However, it is my duty to inform you that the Grand Cleric has stripped you of your commission, and therefore you are no longer protected by internal protocol. You are now…" he paused, his voice dropping low, "…_just a man_."

"I don't believe you!" Talbot exclaimed, unable to hide the shrill note in his voice.

"I don't care _what_ you believe," Ambrose replied. "It's over, Talbot; as we speak, Lucy is confessing all to the Grand Cleric and the King's envoy. In the meantime, you shall eat," he continued, and he opened the door to exit, but then paused. "I expect Warden Howe will arrive quite soon," he finished casually, and, seeing the now-shaking hands and ashen face of the former templar, he turned to one of the men who guarded the room.

"Make sure he has time to pray," he ordered. "He's going to need to."


	24. In Blackest Envy Were The Demons Born

_Apologies - I told some of you that Gabby/Cullen would be featured in this chapter, but it was just getting too long. Next chapter, I promise._

_Thank you so much, Carrie, for your eagle eyes, and for working so hard on this chapter, in between trying to write one of your own :-)_

~0~O~0~

Not long after Ambrose had spoken to Talbot, Nathaniel made his way up to the fourth floor and met the Knight-Commander outside the disgraced former templar's room. After being informed that he had been absolved of any suspicion regarding Cullen's murder, Nathaniel's armour and weapons – including his treasured dagger – had been returned to him. The reunited pair of knives were tucked into his belt, and Ambrose could not help staring as a faint glow emanated from them.

"They're enchanted," Nathaniel explained. "Commander Surana crafted the runes herself – they were a birthday gift from her and the rest of the Wardens."

"Yes, I can feel the energy from them. I wonder why I did not feel it before?" Ambrose mused.

"They resonate only when in close proximity to their partner," Nathaniel said, lovingly stroking one of the handles. "They really are a pair."

Ambrose nodded and pointed towards the door. "He's ready when you are, Nathaniel."

Nathaniel tilted his head slightly and looked seriously at Ambrose. "How far will you permit me to go with him?" he asked.

"Just question him for now," Ambrose said, holding his hands up at Nathaniel's frown. "You may threaten him all you wish, but I want no bloodshed – just the mention of your name already has him intimidated; that alone may be enough."

"Ambrose – he will not believe my threats are serious unless I can back them up," Nathaniel argued. "Sometimes, just a small demonstration is sufficient."

"I am sure you are correct, but I must abide by the law of the land," said Ambrose.

"_You _must abide by it," Nathaniel countered. "_I _am prepared to circumvent it."

Ambrose considered this for a moment, and then shook his head. "I cannot sanction that, Nathaniel…"

"I'm not asking you to sanction _anything_," he interrupted. "Look – do you want answers or not? If I were to go in there armed with nothing but questions, I would be no more effective than your templars were. Sometimes we must bend and do what is for the greater good, even if we'd rather not. Would you weigh one man against everyone else in the Tower? Who is to say what else this rogue templar has been up to?"

They were interrupted by a lone templar charging down the corridor towards them.

"Ambrose!" he exclaimed, gasping for breath. "Thank the Maker I've found you!"

Alarmed, Ambrose and Nathaniel ran over to him. "What is it?" Ambrose demanded.

"Ser," he gasped, "you'd better get down to the library. Jerome attacked several of the men when he was apprehended, with…with blood magic. He's barricaded himself inside one of the study rooms."

"Was anyone hurt?" Ambrose asked.

"They'll recover," the templar answered, "but they're disabled for now. He's warded the room and no one can dispel it or get in there. They need help, ser."

"Stay here and guard that room!" Ambrose ordered him, and beckoned to the two templars who had previously guarded it to follow him.

"I'll come with you," Nathaniel offered, and Ambrose nodded gratefully as the four of them hastily made their way down to the first floor, with Nathaniel briefly stopping by his quarters to retrieve his bow and quiver, before catching them up.

~0~O~0~

After Anders had rounded the corner, Gabby slowly closed her office door and returned to her seat, her mind replaying the rather intense conversation they had just shared. Her thoughts were disrupted by a new sensation that went through her belly.

She had noticed over the last several weeks – after confirmation from Anders - that she was beginning to feel her child's movements, and had delighted in the few times she had sensed it, but this was much more...defined. She placed her hand on her bump and concentrated, willing her son to repeat whatever it was he was doing. A moment later, she again felt the motion but it was much sharper than the last. Worry jolted through her, and her heart quickened. Why was her baby moving so roughly? Was he reacting to something? Was he in distress?

"Anders…" she whispered, and rose to her feet. "It's nothing to worry about, Carlin," she said, stroking her bump, and exited her office, setting off in the direction Anders had gone when he'd left, having an idea of where she might find him.

~0~

"Commander," one of the stablehands greeted her as she approached the paddock. "May I help you? You don't…want to go for a _ride_, do you?" he asked anxiously with a glance at her belly.

"Oh, no, Dale," she answered, glancing around. "I was looking for Anders, actually – he was heading in this direction."

"He's in the stables, Commander," Dale answered. "I think he's going to take Zephyr out. You want me to fetch him for you?"

"No, don't trouble yourself – I'll go," she said.

Dale shook his head. "You shouldn't be going in there, Commander, not in your condition – they're mucking out at the moment, and I don't want you coming into contact with any manure, or even breathing it in. I'll go," he offered, and turned to head for the stables.

"Thank you, Dale," she called after him.

Feeling another strong shift, she took a seat on a small wooden bench just outside the paddock, and watched the horses for a few minutes, stroking her belly and talking softly to Carlin. She didn't notice Anders emerge from the stables, but, as he neared, she felt his taint, and she looked up.

"Gabs?" he said hesitantly as he approached her. "Is everything all right?"

"I-I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Anders," she said quietly, holding her bump. "I'm…I'm worried…about Carlin."

Instantly forgetting his embarrassment from earlier, he sat next to her. "What is it?" he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"I can't explain it," she said shakily, fighting back tears. For the first time since discovering her pregnancy, she felt truly connected to her son; he was real, and she realised that she loved him. The thought that he may be in danger terrified her, but her son needed his mother to be strong – she could not afford to indulge in her distress, and she swallowed down the lump in her throat.

"I'm getting a really defined sensation, here," she wavered, placing her hand on the lower-right side of her small bump. "It's really strong today – it's definitely Carlin, but it's really sharp…what is it, Anders?" she asked nervously.

"You've had it before?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"Nothing like this, no," she answered. "Like I said, I've felt him move before, but it's usually at night, and this feels so different. It's like my whole belly is moving. I'm worried he's in pain or something," she finished.

She felt his grip on her shoulder loosen, and his fingers lightly touched her hair. "He's grown a lot lately," he said as he rose to his feet, and then offered his hand to her. "I have an idea of what it might be, but let's check on our boy anyway, all right?"

"I-I'm sorry, Anders," she mumbled as she took his proffered hand.

"Don't be daft," he said with a grin as they made their way back to the Keep. "If you didn't worry, you wouldn't be much of a mum, would you? I really don't think there's anything to worry about, though," he reassured her.

Upon reaching her office, they entered and Anders locked the door. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing toward the small settee in the corner. "Erm…" he mumbled, looking around, and, finding nothing to cover her with, he removed his robe, leaving him in a thin shirt and breeches.

"Lucky for you I _did _wear something beneath my robes today," he said with a chuckle as Gabby sat down. "It's a bit nippy out."

He passed her the robe and turned his back on her. "I'll need you to lift your robe up so I can examine your belly – use this to cover your legs."

"Thanks, Anders," she said, and did as he asked, covering her bare legs with his robe. "I'm ready."

He turned around and kneeled down in front of her, blowing on his hands and rubbing them together to warm them. "May I?" he asked, reaching for her belly.

"Of course," she said with a worried smile. Anders closed his eyes and placed one hand over the right side of her bump.

"There he is," he said as a small smile crept onto his lips. Gabby watched his face closely as he concentrated. "There are his legs, his bum…he's got a big bum, just like his mum."

"I do _not_ have a big bum!" she protested, and laughed, amazed at his ability to make her feel better in an instant.

"You do, too," he replied cheekily, moving his hand across her, his eyes still closed. "You're lucky – you don't have to _look_ at it."

Just as she was about to reply, she felt the roiling sensation again. A huge grin spread across Anders' face, and he opened his eyes to look at her.

"It's happening again, Anders," she told him.

"I know; I can feel it…" he began, and burst out laughing. "He's on the move," he continued, his hand following Carlin's movements. "Blimey! I think he's having a party in there!"

"I know he's moving!" she grumbled. "But it-it's so...intense!" she protested as she watched Anders continue to smile.

He chuckled. "I told you, Gabs, he's growing leaps and bounds lately," he reassured her. "The bigger he is, the bigger his movements will become." He reached out and took one of her hands, placing it under his against her belly. "I know you won't be able to feel all of this yet, but this..." he slid their hands up to just below her left ribs, "...this is his head...and here..." he continued, guiding their hands diagonally down to her right hip, "...are his feet. I expect that's the sharp motion; he's kicking quite a lot."

"What about his arms? And his hands – he has got hands, right?" she asked nervously.

Anders laughed again. "Don't worry – he has arms; hands, as well!" He moved their hands again. "There they are."

For the next several minutes, Anders and Gabby followed Carlin as he turned a somersault inside her. "I can't imagine what it must be like to feel him moving inside you," Anders said in awe as he watched their hands.

"It was so light before," she said in wonder. "It feels so strange, and they were startling, those harder movements. But now I know what he's up to, it's amazing," she whispered, smiling at him. "And you're positive he's fine?"

"He's great!" Anders chirped. "He's going to be a big, strong lad – a little champion, indeed."

"I'm sorry I got so panicked," she said, feeling embarrassed. "I…well, I haven't done this before."

Anders moved their hands away, pulled her robe over her belly and stood up. "I can lend you some books – they'll tell you all you need to know." He turned away from her and held his hand out for his robe, which she passed over to him, and he shrugged it on.

"I'd rather _you_ told me, Anders," she said quietly, covering her legs with her own robe. "It makes me feel better, to not be guessing at this. Having you check on us makes me feel safe."

He turned slowly to face her and their eyes met as he nodded. "That's how I always want you to feel, Gabs," he said quietly. Quickly, he plastered his practiced smile across his face. "So, feeling better now?" he asked.

She nodded, and rose to her feet. "You always make me feel better," she replied, fiddling with her fingers. "Anders…"

"I'd better go," he said quickly. "I left Zeph in the middle of grooming her, and she won't like that one bit. We're going into Amaranthine – do you need anything?"

"Anders – can we talk?"

"Maybe when I get back, if I've got time," he said without meeting her eyes. "I'd better get back to her – I'll see you both later," he said with a wink, and unlocked the door, heading out into the corridor.

"Thank you," she said quietly as he left, and, once he'd gone, she immediately set off in search of Meredith, Martin and Gillespie.

~0~O~0~

A scene of pandemonium greeted Nathaniel, Ambrose and his two fellow templars as they arrived at the library: several other templars sat or lay on the floor, groaning and clutching at their heads, while some others had managed to stand, although they were unsteady on their feet. With the exception of Jerome, every other healer in the Tower tended to them, and even some non-healing mages, including Padraig, lent a hand. Nathaniel joined his fellow Warden in assisting the stricken knights.

Two uninjured templars took it in turns to shoulder-charge the door of one of the private study rooms off the library, which Jerome had barricaded and warded with blood magic; neither the templars nor the mages were able to dispel it. At the far end of the library stood Varel, the Grand Cleric and Chadwick; as soon as Varel had heard the commotion he'd moved the two important guests to a relatively safe distance.

Ambrose strode into the centre of the library and looked around. "All of you magi, out of here – now!" he commanded, pointing to the exits. "It's not safe for you, here!"

Some of the mages began to depart, but others stood their ground. "There aren't enough of you here, Ambrose," Padraig argued. "I'm staying."

Much to Ambrose's surprise, many of the other mages also agreed to stay and aid the templars. "No – you risk too much," he protested. "If Jerome summons his demon…"

"Yes, we might become possessed and you'd have to kill us," Padraig finished for him. "We all know the risks, Ambrose – just get on with it."

Ambrose sighed and made his way over to the study room, instructing his men to discontinue and stand clear of the door. "Come out of there, Jerome!" he shouted, drawing his sword. "There is no escape for you – there is only one way for this to end, and we may as well make it quick!"

"No!" Jerome cried from inside the room. "Tell your goons to stop banging on the door – they'll draw _him _back out!"

"You should have thought of that before you made a deal with him, maleficar!" Ambrose called back. "Let us end this now – the only other alternative is for you to starve to death in there."

"He won't let me come out!" Jerome said plaintively.

"Your words do not move me!" Ambrose barked. "I suppose he forced you to commit murder, and to attack my men, as well?"

"Let me speak to him, my child," a soft voice spoke from behind him.

Ambrose span around. "No, Your Grace – you must get to safety!"

"She will not listen to me," said Varel, who had arrived next to her.

Candida approached the door and placed her ear against it. "He is terrified," she whispered. "I hear him sobbing."

"It is not him we have to consider, Your Grace, but what lies within him!" Ambrose argued.

"My child," Candida said gently through the door. "You know what is going to happen; there is no other way. Surrender yourself to the templars and make peace with the Maker before you depart this world."

"NO!" a harsh voice bellowed from within the room, and the door was blown off its hinges, the shockwave sending Ambrose, Candida and Varel flying against the wall; all three of them, knocked unconscious, slid to the floor.

"Fuck!" Padraig shouted as deep, mocking laughter sounded from within the room, and out of it stepped a creature the likes of which none of them had seen before. It was masculine in appearance, but was not quite human or elven; its skin was grey-purple and two enormous curved horns sat atop its head. It was naked, expect for a small sash wrapped around its waist which barely covered its genitals and buttocks, revealing a powerful physique. There was something seductive about it, yet repulsive at the same time; it was both beautiful and terrible to behold. Each and every mage stood transfixed as the creature moved among them.

Padraig, who, as a Grey Warden was experienced at dealing with demons, removed his staff from the strap on his back. "Snap out of it!" he yelled. At his words, the mages seemed to awaken from a dream, and readied their own staves. "Somebody see to those three by the study!"

Some of the healers approached the entrance to the study but hesitated, afraid of venturing too near to the demon.

"I mean you no harm," the creature said obsequiously, its voice like shards of glass coated in honey. "The boy is _mine _– we have a bargain - and no one will take him from me. Allow me safe passage, and let us cease this needless fighting," the demon said in a reasonable tone as it stepped aside, allowing three healers to tend to Ambrose, Varel and Candida.

"Needless fighting?" Padraig retorted. "The only fighting we've seen so far has come from you – these people have done nothing to you!"

"Merely a demonstration," the demon answered with a sly look at the Warden. "I offer you a peaceful solution, but if you choose not to take it, then more will follow," it threatened as it smiled, running a clawed finger down its chest.

As they spoke, one of the injured templars struggled to his feet, and drew his sword. "Brave knight of Andraste," the demon purred, turning to face him. "I see your desires so clearly. You covet one of your fellow knights, do you not? You watch him spar and see the sweat run down his muscled chest; oh, how you _long_ to follow those beads of sweat with your tongue, lower and lower and lower…"

The templar, stunned at the creature's words, stood uncertainly, his eyes darting around the room.

"I am Xa'bael," the demon continued, slowly sauntering toward the beguiled knight, "and I can give you _everything_ you've ever desired and more; all you have to do is come with me…"

The templar watched helplessly as Xa'bael extended its claw toward him, his own hand rising to meet it.

"Get a hold of yourself!" Padraig shouted. With the spell momentarily broken, the templar retracted his hand and stepped back.

"Silence, foul creature!" he commanded, and took a swing at the demon with his sword; in his weakened state, however, he could not put his full power into the swing, and the demon easily evaded his attack, grabbing the hapless templar by the throat.

An arrow whistled through the air, piercing Xa'bael's hand; it dropped the templar and span around. "Not very sporting, to attack from the shadows," it commented, breaking off the shaft of the arrow and throwing it to the floor.

"But I have not finished with you, yet, my pet!" it hissed at the poor templar who crawled along the floor, trying to escape.

The mages, once again stupefied by Xa'bael's influence, watched in horror as the templar fell flat onto his face and began to tremble violently.

"That's enough!" Padraig yelled. "Primals – with me! Entropics and Spirits – stay back and support us!"

Once again brought to their senses, the mages followed Padraig's directions; eight primal mages stood with him and the rest dropped back into defensive positions. Nathaniel remained hidden in the shadows.

The ensorcelled templar rose to his feet and stood directly in front of the demon, which wrapped its arms around his waist, and slowly licked up the side of the templar's neck, who moaned with pleasure as the injured templars on the floor loudly voiced their disgust.

"Have fun with them, my love," the demon whispered to him and released him. The templar drew his sword and advanced on the mages, only to be stopped in his tracks as a second arrow from the shadows hit him squarely between the eyes.

"My new toy!" the demon complained petulantly as the templar crumpled to the floor.

Nathaniel ventured a glance over to where the healers tended to Ambrose, Varel and Candida, who were still unconscious; a large pool of blood had formed on the floor beneath them, but Nathaniel could not tell who it had come from.

"Remember your breathing, and stay in control!" Padraig ordered his fellow mages. "If you feel yourself losing control, stop casting immediately!"

Another arrow flew through the air toward Xa'bael's head; by now, however, the demon had ascertained Nathaniel's position, and caught the arrow in mid-flight, snapping it in half. A curse was heard from the shadows, and the library was suddenly lit up as all nine primal mages began casting at once. Unfortunately, their efforts seemed to have no effect on Xa'bael, and the demon laughed mockingly as the Primals' buzzing arcs of electricity, globes of flame and blue-hot chunks of ice fell away from it before they connected.

Some of the injured templars, determined not to leave the mages to the demon's mercy, wearily dragged themselves to their feet and unsheathed their weapons.

Xa'bael turned to face them and smiled malevolently. "Deal with these irritations," it hissed.

As one, the half-dozen templars readied their weapons and advanced on the mages, their faces slack and a dark glint in their eyes. Arrow after arrow flew in rapid succession, dropping some of them, but not before a burst of white light had discharged from one of the templar's hands. The mages' staves noisily clattered to the floor as all nine Primals were lifted off their feet, landing heavily, rendered crippled and useless by the templar's Smite.

A grey, indistinct blur emerged from the shadows, positioning itself between the two remaining templars; in a flurry of steel, a dagger pierced each of their necks and they fell to their knees, choking and gasping. Nathaniel emerged from stealth and looked up at Xa'bael, who exceeded his own height by a clear foot.

"Entropics!" Padraig called weakly from the floor as the remaining healers tended to the smited mages. The only two entropic mages in the Tower, Chauncey and Jane, stood well back and closed their eyes, tracing arcane shapes through the air with their hands; as they did so, red shafts of light appeared from the floor beneath the demon, following the exact direction of the mages' hands. Nathaniel, aware of the Entropics' susceptibility to demonic influence, began to swipe at Xa'bael with his daggers, hoping to divert its attention away from them.

The two Entropics worked as one and weaved together a complex hex, which waxed around the demon's feet, trapping it within the glyph of red light and rendering it immobile beyond its confines.

"Fool bitches!" Xa'bael growled, fixing its gaze upon the entropic mages. "Do you think I need to _move _to do with you exactly as I wish?"

Chauncey suddenly ceased casting and slowly walked toward the demon. "That's it, bitch! Do as I command!"

"Chauncey!" Nathaniel cried and launched himself at the demon, plunging his daggers into the creature's ribs.

"No, Warden!" Jane yelled, "don't enter the glyph – you'll be trapped!"

Xa'bael bellowed in pain and Nathaniel, not having heard Jane's warning, moved away from the demon, only to be sent sprawling to the floor as an invisible barrier repelled him. Xa'bael threw its head back and laughed, and, reaching down, grabbed Nathaniel by the throat, lifting him off the ground, and bringing him level with its face.

Nathaniel grasped at the demon's arms and kicked out with his legs, desperate to loosen its grip on him, his daggers falling uselessly to the floor.

"Fight all you like!" Xa'bael mocked, tightening its claws around Nathaniel's throat. "I like the ones who play hard to get!"

As Nathaniel's face began to turn blue, he ceased his struggling, feeling his life begin to ebb away.

"Stupid human!" Xa'bael growled, bringing its mouth next to Nathaniel's ear. "I'm going to crush your throat," it whispered to him, "and then I'm going to fuck you."

"Duck!" a voice called from behind Nathaniel. Using the last of his wits, he brought his knees together and kicked the demon's groin, hard. Xa'bael groaned and bent forward, loosening its grip on Nathaniel, allowing him to wriggle free and crawl a short distance away. Before the demon could gather itself, a huge broadsword was hefted through the air, and, in one swift motion, Xa'bael's head was cleaved from its body by Ambrose, using the last ounce of strength he possessed.

The demon's body fell, as did Ambrose, his sword skidding across the floor as he released it. Nathaniel rolled onto his back, retching and fighting for air; he felt a warm, soothing energy settle over him, and his eyelids fluttered closed.

He awoke not long after to find a kindly female face looking down upon him; she extended her hand to him and he pulled himself up into a sitting position, rubbing his throat and swallowing hard.

"You'll be fine, Warden," said the healer, "although you may have a sore throat for a few days."

"Thank you very much," he croaked, and looked around. The demon's body and severed head lay not far away from him, apparently ignored for the time being. Most of the mages were back on their feet; the surviving templars, however, were all on their knees in silent prayer.

Nathaniel pushed himself to his feet and slowly walked over to where Varel stood outside the door to the study. Ambrose was on his knees beside him, and next to them laid a body covered by a shroud. As Nathaniel neared, his and Varel's eyes met, and they stood in silence for several minutes as Ambrose and his men commended the Grand Cleric to the Maker.

Ambrose finally rose and looked at the body for a few moments, before turning to Nathaniel. "She hit her head against the wall," he said in a hushed tone. "The healers could do nothing for her. They said it was a quick and painless end."

"I'm truly sorry, Ambrose," Nathaniel commiserated, laying a hand on the Knight-Commander's pauldron, and sighed. "Ambrose," he added apologetically, "I'm afraid I was forced to kill some of your men."

Ambrose nodded. "I understand; you did them a service, Nathaniel. They will all be sent to the Maker with full honours – I will not enter into the records that they died while under a demon's influence."

Chadwick appeared behind them and stood a respectful distance away. "I am sorry for your loss, Knight-Commander," he said. "I will depart for Denerim at once; the King must be informed of Her Grace's passing immediately."

"Of course," Ambrose replied. "If you will wait for a while until we have things in order here, I will arrange an escort for you; it is not safe for you to travel alone along the North Road."

"I am most grateful, ser; please, take your time." Chadwick bowed slightly and walked away, shaking his head at the devastating scene before him.

"Nathaniel," Ambrose said quietly without looking at him, "do you feel up to interrogating the prisoner?"

"Of course," he answered.

"Nathaniel," Ambrose said again, his hands fisting as he looked at the Grand Cleric's body, "someone must be brought to justice for this…this…"

"They will," Nathaniel promised. "But I need to know…"

"Do what you will, Nathaniel," Ambrose told him. "We _must _have a name, but Talbot must live to pay for his crimes. Do not kill him."

"Don't worry, I won't," Nathaniel promised, "but I'm going to need a healer; one with a strong stomach."

Ambrose finally looked at him; his expression was flat and weary. "Very well," he said, and stepped out into the library, looking around for someone suitable. "Alderman," he called, and a male mage walked over to them.

"Yes, Knight-Commander?" he asked.

"Would you be willing to assist Warden Howe with an interrogation?" Ambrose asked. "Your skills may be called for."

"Who is to be interrogated?" the mage asked.

"Talbot," Nathaniel answered.

"In that case, I'd be delighted to assist," Alderman declared with a dark look; Talbot had made no friends among the magi, either. "At your earliest convenience, Warden."

"Ambrose?" Nathaniel asked the Knight-Commander, who nodded.

"Let's go, then," said Nathaniel, and once Ambrose had placed another templar in charge for the time being, the four men headed upstairs.

~0~O~0~

Nathaniel and Alderman entered Talbot's room, Nathaniel locking the door behind them; Varel and Ambrose remained outside.

"The Grand Cleric is dead," Nathaniel said without preamble, turning to face the prisoner.

"What? What are you talking about?" Talbot hissed, sitting bolt upright and clutching the edges of the table.

"Your blood mage killed her," he continued, tutting and shaking his head. "You really _have_ been careless, haven't you, Talbot? Aren't you supposed to keep an eye out for maleficars, as well?"

Talbot folded his arms and remained silent.

"He's ignoring you," Alderman said.

"He is, isn't he?" Nathaniel replied as he removed his daggers from beneath his belt. "Reunited at last," he said with a soft smile, showing them to Talbot. "I believe you are already familiar with Aed," he said, touching the hilt of one of the daggers. "I think that its mate, Tintreach, is quite remarkable as well," he finished as he pushed the set together on the table.

"Threats? don't bother," Talbot said in a bored tone. "Being a Grey Warden doesn't make you immune to the law – you won't hurt me."

"Huh," Nathaniel grunted, a strange, almost hypnotic smile on his face. Talbot sat back.

Nathaniel glanced at Alderman. "Do you have a paralysis spell in your repertoire, ser mage?" he asked.

"I do indeed, ser Warden," Alderman replied with an unsettling smile.

"Excellent," said Nathaniel, turning to Talbot. "Which finger would you miss the least?" he asked, looking at Talbot's right hand.

"W-what?" Talbot exclaimed.

Nathaniel leaned against the desk, bringing his head inches away from Talbot's. "Which-finger-would-you-miss-the-least," he repeated in a menacing monotone, twirling Aed in his hand. "Choose now, or I'll start with your thumb."

"There's no point in threatening me," Talbot insisted, leaning away from Nathaniel. "My fate is sealed. I have nothing to gain from co-operating with you."

"But you have plenty to lose if you _don't_," Nathaniel replied. "Your fingers, for a start. Now answer my question," he said in a deceptively soft voice. "Which finger would you miss the least?"

"I've had enough of this!" Talbot barked, and suddenly grimaced. "What…have you…done?"

Alderman cocked his head to the side. "Oh, I'm sorry! It must have slipped my mind to warn you. I just paralysed you – well, _most_ of you. Your head can still move."

"_And_ you've very obligingly kept your fingers on the table – you see, you _are _co-operating!" Nathaniel added, turning to Alderman. "Which one do _you_ think?" he asked the mage.

"I think one of his little fingers to begin with," Alderman replied. "He can do without one of them – let's not be cruel."

Nathaniel tutted and rolled his eyes. "Oh, if you insist. I don't know…these soft-hearted mages…" He moved closer to Alderman and whispered something in his ear.

"W-what are you whispering about?" Talbot asked, panic evident in his voice.

"Oh, he told me to stop any bleeding, but not to do anything for the pain," Alderman answered, then melodramatically slapped his hand over his mouth. "Sorry, Warden…I wasn't supposed to tell him that, was I?"

Playing along, Nathaniel groaned. "Now he knows our plans, thanks to you!"

Talbot's face began to turn red and he gnashed his teeth. "Why can't I…"

"Why can't you dispel the paralysis?" Alderman asked. "Probably something to do with the ward Ambrose has placed on the room; as you're no longer a member of the Templar Order, it seems they won't allow you to use their abilities. Seems a bit harsh if you ask me, but what can you do?"

"Indeed," Nathaniel concurred. "Who are we to question the Knight-Commander of Ferelden?"

"He still hasn't answered your question," Alderman reminded him.

Nathaniel sighed. "Well, it looks like we'll have to go with your suggestion, ser mage," he said, and moved Aed to rest on the little finger of Talbot's right hand.

"You're bluffing!" Talbot spluttered, sweat coursing down his neck and the sides of his face.

Nathaniel fixed Talbot with an intense stare, his storm-grey eyes boring holes through those of the former templar.

"I _never _bluff," he said coldly.

Outside of the room, Ambrose jumped as a scream came from within, and he detected healing magic being used. He instinctively stepped toward the door, and then hesitated, remembering his own words from earlier.

_We _must_ have a name._

"_Very_ nice," Nathaniel said to Alderman in praise of his healing skills. "Hardly a drop of blood spilled!"

Alderman grinned modestly, and released Talbot from the paralysis spell, but only because it was a drain on his mana. Talbot clutched his right hand, now minus its little finger, and rocked back and forth. "Please," he pleaded, "it hurts!"

"Well, it _would_," Nathaniel said unsympathetically, rolling his eyes. "You've just had one of your fingers cut off. Honestly, where do they get these people from?" he asked Alderman, who shrugged.

"L-look," Talbot stammered, "maybe we can come to an arrangement? I have money…"

Nathaniel laughed and shook his head, bringing out three small phials from a pouch in his leather tunic. "Which one?" he asked Alderman.

The mage pored over the phials, eventually settling on one which contained a murky brown-green substance. "I like the look of that one."

"Good choice," said Nathaniel, holding the phial up to his face. "This is a particular favourite of mine. It's called fleshrot."

"Flesh…_rot_?" Talbot squeaked.

"Yes," Nathaniel answered dryly as he opened the phial and coated the edge of Tintreach with the gloopy liquid. "It really lives up to its name. This is actually my own recipe: I don't want to blow my own trumpet or anything, but I'm a bit of an expert when it comes to poisons."

Talbot stared, aghast, at the dagger as Nathaniel picked it up. "Look," he said, nervously licking his lips. "I'll give you anything you want…"

"You _know _what I want," Nathaniel said calmly. "Paralyse him again," he said to Alderman.

"Wait!" Talbot cried.

"Yes?" Nathaniel asked.

"I-I'll tell you!" Talbot shrieked.

"You know, I hate it when they give up so easily," Nathaniel moaned. "And after we've gone to so much trouble, as well…"

"Please! I'll tell you anything you want, just don't…don't…"

"Shh," Nathaniel intoned, nodding his head. "It's all right. You can tell me _after_."

"After? After _what?" _Talbot spluttered.

"After I've finished _experimenting _on you, of _course_," he replied, as though Talbot was stupid. "Why do you think I came to the Tower in the first place?"

"Weren't you recruiting, Warden?" Alderman asked casually.

"No!" Nathaniel laughed. "I wanted _test subjects_ for my new poisons. This new one I've made is, well, sort of illegal, so I can't go through the usual channels to test it."

"What does it do?" Alderman asked, actually able to see the bulge of Talbot's eyes in his peripheral vision.

Nathaniel puffed his chest out proudly. "Well, let's say if I were to cut off another of our friend's fingers with a blade coated in ordinary fleshrot," he explained, "the stump left behind would probably go gangrenous and he might lose his hand, unless one of you excellent healers were around."

"And what does _your _fleshrot do?" Alderman asked.

"Well," Nathaniel whispered, just loudly enough for Talbot to hear, "this stuff doesn't stop at the site of the wound; it gets into the bloodstream and travels around the body. It's slow-acting, too: after five or ten minutes the blood vessels that carry it begin to dissolve, causing massive internal bleeding…"

Alderman, who was by now facing away from Talbot, did his best not to laugh at Nathaniel's absurd claim, but the Warden's face remained as stone.

"…the blood itself acts as a corrosive agent, and soon, all of the victim's organs liquefy and pool in the lower body," Nathaniel continued. "Obviously, the victim expires," he said casually. "Sometimes it can be quite..._messy_. It's rather unpleasant to shit out one's own innards," he stated with a cold smile.

"Help!" Talbot yelled.

"I've tried it on animals, and the results are most promising," Nathaniel claimed, "but I've never been able to test it on a human…until now, that is…"

"Get me out of here!" Talbot cried aloud, bolting for the door. "He's insane!"

Outside the room, Varel placed a hand on Ambrose's arm and shook his head. "It's all talk," he reassured the nervous Knight-Commander.

Nathaniel placed himself in front of the door and waved Tintreach at Talbot, who nearly fell over the table as he backed away.

"I'll tell you the name!" he shouted at the door.

"But you could tell me_ any_ name," Nathaniel said as he advanced, trapping Talbot in a corner of the room.

"No! I wouldn't do that!" Talbot asserted. "You could come and find me…please…please let me tell you!" he begged, falling to his knees.

"You're sure?" Nathaniel asked. "You're not going to give me a false name, are you?"

"No!" Talbot beseeched as he fell onto all fours, weeping.

Nathaniel placed Tintreach on the table and glanced at Alderman. "Thank you for your help, ser mage," he said, reaching over to shake his hand. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave, now."

Alderman tutted and pulled a face.

"I'm sure you'll find out before long," Nathaniel assured him. "I've heard what this place is like for tittle-tattle."

"True enough," Alderman said with a grin, and bent over to retrieve something from the floor. "I think this belongs to you," he said to Talbot, and threw his severed finger at him, before exiting the room and closing the door.

"He's talking," he told Ambrose and Varel. "I'd better go and change these robes," he said, glancing down at the spatters of blood on his cuffs. "Blood's a bastard to shift."

"Thank you, Alderman," Ambrose said as the mage departed.

The two men waited outside and listened; at first, quiet talking could be heard from within.

"Don't lie to me, Talbot!" Nathaniel suddenly shouted. "Why would _he_ be involved?"

Varel and Ambrose exchanged a grave look; the conversation from inside the room became quiet again.

"If you're lying, I swear I'll come to Aeonar and conscript you – and then I'll make you my _bitch_!" Nathaniel snarled from within.

"I'm not lying!" Talbot wept, "I swear it!"

The door slowly opened, and a pale, grim-faced Nathaniel emerged.

"Did he give a name?" Ambrose asked as Nathaniel closed the door.

Nathaniel took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. "He did."

Ambrose unsheathed his sword in readiness to apprehend the culprit. "Tell me," he demanded.

Nathaniel looked at Varel, his expression as black and hard as flint. "He's not here," he said irascibly. "We need to return to Vigil's Keep immediately."

Varel nodded. "I'll go and pack," he replied, and turned to leave.

"As will I," Ambrose said.


	25. A Gift From The Future

_Thank you, Carrie, for rearranging my words into something readable! Also thank you to everyone who reads, alerts and favourites, and a special thank-you to those of you who review and PM me._

~0~O~0~

"Is there any chance of me having some privacy?"

Meredith and Martin glanced at one another, and Martin grimaced at the question. "I'm sorry, Gabby. We all agreed – even Anders did – that Meredith and I would watch over anyone who went into the fade; it's for your own protection."

"Besides, Anders would kill us if he found out we'd left you alone," Meredith added.

"I won't be alone," she replied with a nod toward Gillespie, who sat next to her on the bed.

"That's not that same, Gabby, and you know it," Meredith countered.

"We'll do our best not to listen, but we have to concentrate on you," Martin said with an apologetic shrug.

"Oh, all right," she conceded with a sigh, and lay back on the bed. Gillespie lay down next to her and took her hand.

"Who's going to put us to sleep?" he asked her.

"We'll put each other to sleep," she answered. "It's tricky, but Anders and I managed it. We have to get the timing exact, though."

"Can't you put yourselves to sleep?" Martin asked. Both mages shook their heads.

"It's not possible," Gillespie answered. "We'd lose consciousness before the spell was complete, and wouldn't be able to commit enough mana to it – we'd awaken after a few seconds. At least this way Gabby and I will be touching and will be able to absorb each other's mana."

"What about waking you up?" Meredith asked. "Don't you need someone to reverse the sleep spell?"

Gillespie looked at Gabby. "We'll just cast a light sleep spell," he said to her, and she nodded. "Once you know we've left the fade, you should be able to rouse us quite easily."

"All right – whenever you're ready," Meredith replied.

Gabby closed her eyes. "Ready, Gil?"

"Ready, Gabs."

"On three – one, two, three…"

Almost instantaneously, they found themselves standing and holding hands, and allowed themselves a few seconds to adjust.

"Well done, Gabs," Gillespie said.

"It doesn't always work," she replied with a shrug as they looked around, the two of them suddenly exchanging a concerned look.

"Where _is_ everyone?" Gillespie asked, confused. He and Gabby were alone in the raw fade; there was no sign of the magi and templar spirits they'd encountered there previously.

Gabby's stomach knotted and she felt a flood of heat wash over her. Was this the moment she'd dreaded? Had Cullen finally gone to the Maker?

Gillespie watched her carefully for a moment, unsure of what to say. Leaving her to her thoughts, he released her hand and walked a short distance away, not really knowing what he was looking for, but everywhere was the same; there was nothing to be found in this barren and monotonous place.

"Hello?" he called out. "Is anyone still here? Cullen?"

He glanced over at Gabby, who looked back at him with a troubled expression. She slowly walked over to him and began to speak, but hesitated.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," she replied.

"We can wait for a bit, if you like, see if anything happens. How long will we be out for?"

"Not long," she answered, "maybe an hour or so?"

"Or we could go back and let the templars wake us," he suggested.

She cast her eyes down to the ground and thought for several moments, then slowly shook her head. "I think they've finally moved on, Gil," she said heavily. "Let's go back."

Silently, he slipped an arm around her shoulder and they closed their eyes, willing themselves to leave the fade.

Martin and Meredith, noticing that the mages' jerky movements had ceased, shook them gently and called to them. They awoke, and Gillespie turned towards Gabby, who stared up at the ceiling.

"Thank you all for your help," she said quietly in a polite way of asking them to leave.

Gillespie sighed, let go of her hand and sat up on the bed. "You know where we are, Gabs."

She nodded as the three men took their leave. Meredith was the last one out of the room, and he turned to look at her before he left.

"I'm sorry Gabby," he said sadly. "Really, I am."

"Thank you," she replied, and, as he closed the door, she cradled her belly and closed her eyes.

~0~O~0~

Varel and Nathaniel, who by now were packed and ready to leave, waited outside Ambrose's office as the Knight-Commander briefed Ser Riley, a senior templar who would be left in charge of the Tower during his absence. Chadwick, who was to accompany them for most of the journey before making his way to Denerim, also waited with them. Ambrose had invited Padraig into his office for the briefing, and Varel wondered why; if Nathaniel was similarly curious he made no sign – he'd hardly spoken a word since Talbot's revelation, and stood leaning against a wall with his arms folded, staring into space.

Ambrose's door opened, and Padraig stepped out, looking rather pleased with himself.

"Guess what?" he said excitedly to Varel and Nathaniel. "Ambrose has asked me if I'd consider taking up the vacant First Enchanter's position!"

"Really?" Varel asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "What did you say?"

"Well," he said, scratching his head, "I was a bit taken aback, to be honest. He told me that apparently all of the mages look up to me, and that I was inspirational during the fight with the demon!"

"You were," Nathaniel said quietly from behind them.

"Well, thank you," Padraig replied, looking bemused as Ambrose's offer finally began to sink in. "It won't happen straight away, of course," he explained. "I still have to take my Harrowing, and I have to take loads of tests on the theory and application of magic, _and _I have to specialise in Primal and so on, but…" He chuckled to himself. "Who'd have thought it? An apostate Warden becoming First Enchanter? You couldn't make that up!"

"Is this what you want?" Varel asked him.

"I quite like the idea, actually," Padraig replied, "and Ambrose is all right – a bit stuffy, perhaps, but he's a decent bloke. What really impressed me was that during the fight with the demon, everyone looked out for each other – the mages stayed to help the templars, and the injured templars did their best to defend them. Anders always told me that templars and mages hate each other."

"Perhaps that is how it used to be," Varel guessed, "and Anders probably has his own reasons for distrusting the templars."

"Well, perhaps Anders has the right idea sometimes," Nathaniel muttered sourly. "They're not _all_ honourable men, are they? And what's taking _him_ so long?" he asked the two of them, pointing at Ambrose's door.

"I think they're nearly done," Padraig replied, and looked at Nathaniel with concern. "Are you all right, Nate?"

"No, I'm _not_ all right," he snapped, rubbing his forehead. "It's going to take us a _week_ to get home, and…"

Varel placed a hand on Nathaniel's shoulder. "We're all worried," he said softly, "but we must keep our wits about us, Nathaniel."

Nathaniel grunted and glanced at Talbot's door again. Padraig walked over to it and knocked; after a moment, it was opened by Ser Riley.

"I think they're eager to get going," Padraig told him.

"I'm coming, now," Ambrose called from inside, and stepped out, passing a few documents to his replacement. "I leave the Tower in your capable hands, ser," he said. "I may be away for several weeks; I shall send news at regular intervals. I have every confidence in you."

The two men bowed to one another, and Ambrose approached Varel, Nathaniel and Chadwick. "I am ready to depart at your convenience, gentlemen."

"We're ready now," Nathaniel said impatiently. "We've put our belongings on Kester's boat – yours included – and he's waiting for us."

"Then let us waste no more time," Ambrose said, and joined the others at the main door. Padraig saw them out, and stopped Nathaniel as they exited the Tower.

"Come back and visit, Nate," he said as they shook hands. "Bring Gabby and Anders, as well – I'll miss them."

"I'll do my best," Nathaniel answered with a strained smile.

"They'll be fine, you know – haven't you always said so? That the Keep could be a smoking ruin and yet the two of them would still be running around, playing jokes on each other as they burned?"

"I probably did say something like that," Nathaniel answered with a wry snort. "I'm a morbid sod sometimes, aren't I?"

"Yes, you are," Padraig laughed, "But I'll still miss you."

Nathaniel nodded and shook Padraig's hand again. "Me too, Padraig. Good luck to you, First Enchanter."

Leaving a grinning Padraig behind, he turned away and caught up to the others, feeling the weight of the world pressing down upon him.

~0~O~0~

Having dozed off on her bed, Gabby felt herself nearing the surface of awakening, and stretched her arms and legs, keeping her eyes closed. As her muscles relaxed, she held her breath for a second, suddenly aware that she was not alone in the room.

With her eyes still closed, she concentrated. She could sense no taint or mana field nearby, but when she held her breath again, she could hear the soft breathing of another person. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and a small gasp escaped her lips.

"I'm sorry," said the man who sat next to her on the bed. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

Her heart racing, she pushed herself up on the bed, but did not move away from him. "How-how can you be here?" she asked.

"I know you came looking for me," he replied softly. "I am sorry I could not be there to see you, Gabby. I…I have many things to be sorry for."

"Where were you?" she asked.

"We have…we are needed elsewhere," he replied, choosing his words carefully.

"Where?"

"I am sorry, but I cannot tell you that," he said apologetically.

"Is this something to do with the elf that Anders told me about?" she asked; he looked at her but did not answer.

She sighed and nodded her head slowly. "Is this…is this going to be the last time I see you?"

"Perhaps," he answered, "but, if I am able, I will visit you from time to time…if that's what you want."

She touched her belly as she felt Carlin move inside her, almost reminding her of a promise she'd made to her son a while ago, when she'd tucked Cullen's pendant away and had said goodbye to him.

After a long pause, she looked down at her hands and spoke. "I-I have to think of my son, Cullen...I can't live two separate lives – I have to be there for him in my realm…"

"And you must consider your husband-to-be, as well," he added.

She looked into his eyes and nodded. "Cullen, I-I do…" She bit her lip and faltered, feeling her eyes moisten.

He reached over and took one of her hands. "I know you do, Gabby." He moved her hand onto her belly and rested his on top of it. "He's going to be a fine lad, you know," he said with a gentle smile. "He'll make you and Anders proud."

"Cullen, I…" she began, and was silenced by the look in his eyes, full of longing and regret.

"I will not come to you again," he said softly, "but I will always be with you, and one day we will be together again…all of us."

"Yes," she whispered as they held each other's gaze. Slowly, he moved closer to her and she closed her eyes, feeling his warmth as he wrapped his arms around her, gently laying her down on the bed.

"I have something for you," he said, his lips so close to hers that she felt the soft vibration of his words against her mouth. She felt herself melt away into nothingness as his lips brushed against hers and his hand cupped her face, gently stroking with his thumb. Moving away from her lips, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"A parting gift," he whispered. "Farewell, Gabby."

She shivered a little as his warmth left her and she reached out for him, only to find him gone. She touched her lips and closed her eyes, wanting to stay with the moment for as long as she possibly could. Sinking back down into the bed, she wrapped her arms around herself – a self-comforting action she'd employed since she'd been a young girl at the Tower, whenever she'd felt lonely or sad.

As her breathing slowed, she once again fancied she could hear soft breathing, and gradually became aware of yet another presence in the room with her. She was reluctant to open her eyes, as she wanted to stay with the feeling Cullen had left her with for a while longer, but she was also curious to learn what he'd meant by 'a parting gift.'

Accepting that she would have to open her eyes eventually, she slowly did so, cautiously glancing around her bedroom, and was startled, but not frightened, at the sight of a young man who stood at the foot of her bed.

She frowned slightly and sat up, carefully regarding the young man, who smiled at her but did not speak. He was approximately twenty years of age, tall and well-built, and his reddish-blond hair and soft green eyes reminded her of someone. She was certain that they had never met before, and yet he seemed very familiar to her.

"I…know you, don't I?" she asked, trying to work out where she'd seen him before; still he did not answer, but continued to smile at her, his eyes crinkling softly.

Slowly, she rose, and took a few hesitant steps towards the man, who waited patiently at the foot of the bed as she neared him.

She scrutinised him carefully, searching her memory for some reminder, some clue as to his identity, and then, as he tilted his head slightly and gazed lovingly at her, she saw herself reflected in his face.

Her mouth fell open as she finally realised who he was. "It-it's _you_, isn't it?" she asked in an awed whisper, her face crumpling as she extended a trembling hand to touch his cheek. He took her hand in his and silently nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.

She leaned against his chest and felt his strong arms envelop her. "Thank you, Cullen," she breathed against the young man, tears of joy spilling down her face.

"I'll be seeing you soon," a soft, deep voice said inside her head, and then she heard loud laughter and the whinny of a horse.

Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself exactly where she'd been when the templars and Gillespie had left her: lying on her bed with one arm draped across her bump. She pushed herself up and, feeling Carlin shift again, she touched her belly and laughed, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Yes, I'll be seeing you soon, my son," she whispered, taking a deep, steadying breath.

She heard the laughter again coming from outside, and recognised it as Anders'. Rising from the bed, she walked over to her window, from where she could see him and a few of the stablehands sharing a joke.

"Come on, Carlin," she said as she stroked her belly, "let's go and say hello to your dad."

She made her way down to the main hall, where she bumped into Gillespie.

"How are you feeling, Gabs?" he asked her.

She nodded her head. "I'm all right – really, I'm fine. Thank you for coming with me earlier."

"You're sure?" he asked, and she nodded again. "Well, I think Anders has just got back."

"I know – I heard him from upstairs," she replied.

Gillespie squeezed her shoulder. "I'll leave you to it, then. You coming in for supper in a bit?"

"Yes, I'll see you in there," she answered, and Gillespie headed into the dining hall.

The main doors of the Keep were opened, and Anders stepped in, weaving a little as he walked. He stopped in his tracks as soon as he spotted her.

"Oh, hello, Gabs," he slurred, doing his best to walk in a straight line as he approached her.

She cocked her head and smiled at him. "Did you have fun in town?" she asked.

"Oh, I had a wander around the markets, you know…didn't buy anything, though. Then I went to the Crown. I stayed downstairs, by the way," he said pointedly.

"Oh…well, that's your business, Anders," she replied. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."

"I stayed downstairs," he repeated. "Anyway, I met this dwarven merchant who thought he could beat a namby-pamby mage like me in a drinking contest…"

"And who won?" she asked.

"I did!" he declared proudly, then clutched his head and swayed a little; Gabby touched his arm to steady him. "Ooh, Maker…what the dwarf didn't realise is that this _namby-pamby mage_ has been drinking Oghren's home brew for the last six months. You should have seen the look on his face as he passed out, and I was still going!"

"You're a credit to Vigil's Keep," she said with a crooked smile.

Anders cocked an eyebrow and looked at her doubtfully. "That wouldn't happen to be _sarcasm_, would it?" he asked.

"You decide," she answered with a grin.

"Hmm," he mumbled. "So, what have _you_ been up to while I was out?"

She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to spoil his good mood, but she had a feeling he knew anyway. "I, erm, I saw Cullen," she said quietly.

"Oh!" he said with an exaggerated nod. "Right…manage to sort things out, did you?"

"Erm, yes, I suppose you could say that."

"Good. No, that's good. Well, I think I'd better go and lie down for a bit," he said quickly. "My head feels like there's an ogre dancing the Remigold inside it."

"I was about to go in for supper," she said. "Do you want to come with me?"

"No, I've already eaten," he answered with a shake of his head. "Poor old Zeph struggled to carry me back, I can tell you! Anyway, you go and have something to eat. I'll see you in the morning."

"Oh, all right then…goodnight," she said as he walked unsteadily away.

"Night, Gabs!" he called back.

~0~O~0~

After a fitful few hours' sleep, Anders hauled himself out of bed and splashed his face with water from his basin. Sighing into his towel, he slumped against a wall, instantly recoiling as the cold stone made contact with his bare back.

He slowly eased himself against the wall, occasionally wincing, until the stone had warmed slightly against his skin. Closing his eyes, he shook his head and groaned in frustration. Ever since he had left her standing in the main hall, his mind wouldn't let go of the image her announcement had conjured; Cullen waiting for Gabby in the fade, and their subsequent _reunion_.

Why had he scurried up to his room when he'd returned? He'd never felt more the coward.

She had clearly wanted to talk about what had occurred, and he'd _wanted_ to ask her if she was all right; he needed to learn what had been said, to know where he stood, but instead, he'd made a dash to his room. Now he had nothing to distract him from the endless stream of questions his heart needed the answers to, and his fear of what those answers might mean.

He felt an unpleasant sensation in his stomach, not knowing whether it was down to nerves, hunger or both, but he quickly threw on a robe and padded, barefoot, down to the kitchen. He needed to _do _something, and decided that stuffing his face with food was as good a thing to do as any.

As his quarters were located in the easterly part of the Keep, he entered the kitchens via the servants' entrance as opposed to via the dining hall itself, and was glad of it, as no sooner had he stepped into the kitchens, he sensed a Warden's presence nearby. This was not at all unusual; at least one of the Wardens, if not most of them, ventured downstairs at some point each night for a snack, but although he could not discern individual Wardens by their taint, somehow he knew it was her.

He eventually spotted her from the rear of the kitchen; she sat at one of the large banqueting tables in the hall, illuminated by a thin shaft of moonlight that fell across her hair. He squinted in the gloom, somewhat puzzled by her posture and odd movements. _What's she doing? _he wondered. Was the dim light playing tricks on his eyes?

He walked a little nearer to the dining hall, and, noticing the frantic motion of one of her arms, his heart sank. She was crying – he just knew it.

Slowly, he walked over to her, knowing that if he could sense her, then she must be able to sense him by now, but she didn't look up, nor did she cease her movements.

"Oh, Gabby…" he said softly as he arrived behind her, slowly walking round to her side. She froze for a second and held her breath.

"Vamzers!" she exclaimed, then quickly chewed something and swallowed. "I mean, _Anders_!" She quickly glanced up at him, and he noticed she was forcing a casual pose.

"What have you got around your _mouth_?" he asked her, having a hard time seeing her in the dark, especially as she was doing her best to turn away from him.

"Nothing, you know, just...food," she said, quickly wiping her mouth with a napkin.

His eyes then fell to the table; from the several empty plates and bowls, it was apparent that Gabby had been hungry – very hungry – and was not crying at all, but was in fact eating with gusto. In front of her was a large bowl of half-eaten spotted dick* with custard, and, to her elbow, a tray holding a large, carved-up chunk of what appeared to be cheese – very _old _cheese.

He took a seat next to her, wrinkling his nose as he did so. "You're actually eating _that_?" he asked with a distasteful look at the very runny, very smelly cheese.

She nodded. "What?" she asked before shovelling another bite of spotted dick and custard into her mouth.

"Maker, Gabby – it smells like Oghren's jockstrap!" he said with disgust, fanning his hand in front of his face.

She swallowed and let out a small belch. "How do _you_ know what Oghren's jockstrap smells like?" she asked.

"Just a guess – and I'm being _charitable_, believe me," he answered haughtily. "Gabs, couldn't you find anything _else_ to eat?"

"Look – I just wanted some cheese, all right?" she said defensively.

"But you don't even _like _cheese!"

"Try telling that to Carlin!" she moaned, reaching over for another piece. "I can't stop eating it – he's like some sort of little cheese monster, or something!"

"Give me that!" Anders demanded, snatching the tray away from her, but not before she had popped another large chunk into her mouth. He shook his head and groaned. "You can't eat nothing but cheese, you know – you'll make yourself sick!"

"I'm not eating _nothing _but cheese," she protested, pointing to the empty bowls and plates.

"Gabby, half of this is gone!" he said, pointing to the tray. "I know what this is – it's that stuff Varel likes. This was only delivered yesterday – look how much of it you've eaten!"

"I'm not the _only_ person at the Keep you know, Anders!" she replied hotly.

"Nobody else will touch the stuff!" he argued. "It could only have been you!"

"What's your point, Anders?" she said, drumming her fingers on the table. "Did you want some or are you just picking on the pregnant girl?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Anyway, you're exaggerating – there isn't half of that gone already!"

"There is – look!" he said, bringing the tray closer to Gabby, who promptly snatched another piece and crammed it onto her mouth, her eyes wide with mock-innocence.

Anders gasped. "You tricked me!" He stood and charged over to the kitchen, tray in hand. "This is going on a high shelf where short-arse elves can't reach it!"

"But I'm hungry!" she protested, before she sat back in her chair. "I _am_ pregnant you know," she said in a petulant tone.

"I know," he called from the kitchen, "but you're supposed to be eating for two, not ten!"

She rubbed her belly and yawned as she watched him stow the cheese out of her reach; he then started to make some tea.

By the time he'd returned to her she was dozing in the chair. Quietly placing the tea tray down on the table, he took a seat next to her and, resting his head on one of his hands, he watched her for a while. He watched the rise and fall of her chest and the way her hand tenderly cradled her bump; he looked at her tousled golden-red hair and how the moonlight had lent it a silvery hue. He listened to her soft breathing and closed his eyes, wondering what it would be like to fall asleep to the sound of that breathing, and to feel her warm breath against his neck.

He opened his eyes and sighed slowly, wanting nothing more than to scoop her and Carlin up, carry them up to his bed, wrap them up nice and snugly in his blankets, and for them to fall asleep in his arms.

"Gabs?" he whispered as he poured her a cup of tea.

She moaned and stirred a little.

"Tea," he said, pushing a cup and saucer over to her.

"Oh, thanks," she mumbled, pushing herself up a little in the chair.

"You going to eat that?" he asked, pointing to the bowl of spotted dick. She groaned and shook her head, pushing the now cold pudding over to him.

The two of them didn't speak for a few minutes, as Anders wolfed it down and Gabby sipped at her tea.

"Anders," she said eventually, and straightened herself up. "I, erm, I wanted to tell you what happened with Cullen – if you _want_ to know, that is."

"What do you mean, what happened?" he asked, looking up with his mouth full. "Did something happen? Something bad?"

"No!" she replied. "I just…I just wanted to tell you, that's all."

Anders wasn't sure whether he wanted to know or not. While he had no interest in hearing how much she loved Cullen, and that they'd had an emotional reunion and that there'd been tears and hugs – and _kissing -_ he also appreciated that she was trying to keep him involved, and that she didn't want him to feel left out.

He nodded slowly, certain his lack of enthusiasm showed. "Sure Gabs; why not."

She watched him for a moment; he was right – he couldn't have looked less interested if he'd tried. Knowing how he felt about her, she knew how difficult it must be for him, but she was determined to be honest with him.

"Well, we said goodbye to each to each other," she began. Anders immediately frowned, pondering the significance of her words. _Why _had they said goodbye to each other? And _how_? Had they…

And if they _had_, what did it have to do with him?

"He's no longer there, Anders, in the fade, I mean; none of them are. He came to me in a dream. We-we said goodbye," she said quietly. Anders, who was still frowning, nodded a little and waited for her to continue. "He told me he could come to me again, if I wished, but…I-I said no."

She paused for a moment; Anders heard her gulp and take a deep breath.

"This is the real world," she said with a wave of her hand. "I have a son. I have to think of him, and I have to think of…I have to think of you, Anders."

His frown deepened and he replaced the spoon in the bowl, clasping his hands together on the table. "Me?"

"You're going to be my husband," she went on. "You're taking on my son, and that's no small thing. For whatever reasons we're doing it, Anders, I intend to take my marriage vows seriously – and that includes forsaking all others."

He was genuinely taken aback. "I-I had no idea…Gabby – I would never expect you to…"

"I know you don't expect anything, Anders," she replied, placing her hand on his arm. "You have done so much for me without expecting anything in return. Well, I want to give you as much as _I_ possibly can in return. The least I can do is be a good wife to you. As…as much as I can be, anyway."

"But…you still love him, don't you?" he asked softly.

She looked at him and nodded slowly, her hand still on his arm. "It's changed, but yes, I do," she confessed. "I-I don't know what the future will bring, and I'm not promising anything," she said, "except that I won't be unfaithful to you. We're going to be a family, Anders, and I intend to honour that."

He sighed and took her hand in his, allowing a little hope to enter his heart; although she had told him she still loved Cullen, he felt optimistic that, given time, perhaps in the future there would be a place in her heart for him. That was not something, however, that he took for granted.

"I'm just glad to have you as a friend, Gabs," he said sincerely, gently running his thumb along her knuckles. "Like you said, we don't know what will happen. Let's just get the wedding and Carlin's birth out of the way – one thing at a time, eh?"

She smiled and nodded.

"Oh! I didn't mean it like that – getting them out of the way…you know what I mean!" he said sheepishly.

"I know," she replied.

Each was quiet for several moments, but soon they shared a small smile.

"All right! Come on, piglet," he coaxed, squeezing her hand before releasing it so he could stand up. "Let's get to our rooms – I have a feeling neither of us is going to be at our best in the morning, so we should probably get as much sleep as we can."

"No," she answered lethargically. "I'm going to stay here forever – in fact I think I'm going to live here."

"Well then, do you want a bit of my spotted dick?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

She groaned and patted her belly. "Ugh, no, Anders – I don't think I could accommodate it."

"Damn right you couldn't, darling," he boasted, before stooping over and shovelling the last of it into his mouth. "Very few can."

Their eyes met and they burst out laughing, Anders having to make a supreme effort not to choke on his food. Gabby was delighted to see him more at ease; he hadn't flirted with her like this for quite a while, and she was surprised at how much she'd missed it.

Standing and collecting their empty plates, he gave her a quick wink and crossed over to the kitchen.

"Can you stand?" he asked as he walked back to her.

She narrowed her eyes, drawing a smile from him. "Yes, I _can_ stand!" she replied with a laugh. "I haven't eaten _that_ much." Bracing the palms of her hands against the table top, she slowly began to push to her feet, but slumped back. Blushing furiously, she tried again, and this time came to her feet and offered him a triumphant grin. "See?"

"Uh huh," Anders said with a small laugh. He offered his arm, which she quickly took, and he once again found himself wishing he could always hold her close.

"Gabs," he said quietly as they left the kitchens for their rooms.

"Hmm?" she mumbled.

"Thanks for telling me," he began. "I never expected you to be so committed to our marriage, to me, but I'm grateful."

He felt her fingers give his arm a gentle squeeze. "We will be a good family, we three," she said softly.

Her words lifted his spirit and he felt the tiny seed of hope he had held earlier take full root. "Let's get you two to bed," he whispered.

_*Spotted dick – not a venereal disease, but in fact a delicious steamed pudding of the British Isles, made with suet and currants, which is served with custard. Apparently it tastes very similar to pound cake._


	26. Never Again

_Hugs and a big thank-you to the impossibly busy Carrie for once again applying her sane and steadying touch to my writing :-)_

~0~O~0~

Anders' eyes slowly flickered open, and he immediately squeezed them shut as the glare of the sun amplified the dull ache at the back of his skull.

"Bastard!" he cursed, yanking his blankets over his head. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, willing himself back into blissful, headache-free sleep. After a few seconds, he realised with a groan that his bladder was full, and that soon he would need to get up. Loath to leave the warm, comfortable cocoon of his bed, he toyed with the idea of just letting nature take its course, quickly rejecting it after realising that would create_ work_ for him, and he shuddered at the thought of having to explain the wet blankets to the washer women.

Reluctantly pushing himself up, he swung his legs around the side of the bed and slowly sat up, where he remained for a few minutes, keeping his eyes closed as the blankets slid down onto his lap. He'd slept heavily, and for too long; his dry, furry tongue and the vague throbbing he still felt in his head made his dehydration all too apparent.

"I'm getting too bloody old for this game," he grumbled, rubbing the crusty bits of sleep out of his eyes. Touching his eyelids with his fingers, he called a small part of the fade into his world, letting it fill him, and willed the image of himself with bright eyes, rosy skin and a jolly, _headache-free _countenance into existence.

Nothing happened.

"Eh?" he mumbled with an exaggerated frown, wondering for a moment if Martin had crept into his room and drained his mana as a joke. He concentrated for a second, and felt his mana field pulse vigorously; it was full and strong.

"That's weird," he said with a sigh, and attempted the spell again. This time, he was successful, and he felt some of the heaviness and pressure in his head evanesce.

Gingerly, he opened one eye, then the other. Now finding the daylight only slightly bothersome, he slowly rose, only to slump back down as his head began to swim in murky, nauseating waters. After a second and third attempt he managed to stand, and, looking down, he realised he'd slept in his favourite, now badly creased, robe.

"I'm _never _having a drinking contest with a dwarf again!" he vowed, ignoring the irritating voice at the back of his mind that taunted: _come on, Anders – who are you trying to fool?_

"I won't," he said determinedly as he reached under his bed for his chamber pot, relieved himself, and then ambled over to his wash basin, turning over the events of the night before in his mind. Gabby's promise had had a profound effect on him, and, after going to bed, he'd lain awake for a while, silently making a few promises of his own.

_I'm going to stop getting drunk. I'm going to stop swearing. _Remembering what he'd called the sun only moments earlier, he grimaced. "That was _definitely _the last time," he said sternly to his shaving mirror.

_No more whores. _This was an easy promise to keep. When he had first joined the Wardens, he'd made two or three 'shopping trips' to Amaranthine per week, and at one point Gabby had jokingly thanked him for his contribution to the arling's economy. As he'd gotten to know her, however, his excursions had tailed off sharply; his visit to Ellen had only been to prove a point to himself, and, although he'd turned in a solid performance, it had nonetheless been a spectacular failure, at least in validating his belief that sleeping with a prostitute who vaguely resembled Gabby would get her out of his system; in fact, the experience had only made his longing for the genuine article more acute.

"Anyway, I don't need them; I have a perfectly good right hand," he said into his mirror as he examined his stubble, deciding he'd shave tomorrow. Maybe.

After a perfunctory wash of his face, armpits and genitals, he slipped on a fresh robe, leggings and boots, and made his bed. Squinting as he looked out of his window, he guessed from the position of the sun that it was around ten in the morning, and wondered if Gabby was up yet. Varel and Nathaniel had always been up at the crack of dawn, and Gabby, perhaps feeling obligated to follow suit, usually rose not long after; in their absence, however, she'd slipped into bad habits, and lately was rarely seen before nine.

He left his room and took the two-minute walk along the corridor to hers. After his first knock on the door yielded no answer, he tried again, and then called out her name. Trying the door knob, he slowly opened the door but did not look inside.

"Are you in there, Gabs?" he called. "Are you decent?"

When no answer came, he cautiously peered around the door, finding the room empty. As he pulled the door closed, he caught the faint smell of fresh vomit from within the room.

"Uh oh," he mumbled.

"It seems you were right, Anders," a weak, shaky voice said from behind him. He turned to see a bedraggled, sallow-hued Gabby slowly walking toward him, wearing a thick dressing gown.

He gritted his teeth and hissed in sympathy. "Have you been sick?" he asked.

"I haven't been off the privy all night," she admitted ruefully.

"_Both_ ends?"

She cringed and nodded. "I'm amazed there's anything left of me. I guess you'll be saying you told me so?"

"I take exception to that remark," he said airily, folding his arms. "I mean, I _thought _it immediately, but I didn't _say_ it – there is a difference, you know."

She smiled wearily at his attempt to cheer her up and nodded her head.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked.

"Because you weren't exactly at your most robust last night," she explained, looking up at him, "and if I'd been sick in front of you, _you_ probably would have started, and it would have just been a chain reaction of vomiting – urgh, it doesn't even bear thinking about."

In reply, he burped and swallowed down something unpleasant. "You could be right, there," he admitted.

"Anders – will this affect Carlin?" she asked anxiously.

"Not if it's a one-off," he said, gently ushering her back into her room. "He's very well protected in there. You need to keep your fluids topped up, though – you get back into bed, and I'll fetch you some boiled water."

"But I can't stay in bed all day," she argued. "We were going to go through the staff remuneration today, remember?"

"We can do it here," he insisted, waving a finger at her as she began to protest. "_Bed_," he said in a tone that would brook no argument.

Her shoulders slumped and she groaned. "Oh, all right. You're such a _shrew_," she teased as she sloped over to her bed and pulled the covers back.

"I'll be back in a bit," he said from the door.

"Anders – will you bring me some cheese up?" she asked cheekily as she climbed into bed.

"I _hope_ you're joking!" he scolded with a hard look at her. She giggled, and then winced as she clutched her belly.

He walked over to the bed and sat down next to her. "Give me your hand," he instructed.

She placed her small hand in his and he closed his eyes. Gabby felt the hairs on her arm stand on end for a second.

Anders' eyes snapped open and he looked at her in dismay. "That's the second time that's happened today!"

"The second time what's happened?" she asked.

"I was trying to rejuvenate you," he replied, standing up and staring at the wall. "I tried to do it to myself earlier, and it failed the first time…what's going on?"

"Do you feel well?" she asked. "Besides having a hangover, I mean?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes…maybe my head's still a little fuzzy?"

"That could be it, yes," she answered cautiously, although she was also concerned: Anders _never _lost his concentration during spellcasting, and he was a pretty seasoned drinker.

"Try another spell on me," she suggested.

"Erm…all right, let's try…" He sat back down on the bed and took her hand again. "I'll try a heal spell on your hand," he said. "Although you don't have any injuries, you know what it feels like, don't you?"

"I do," she answered, and he once again closed his eyes and concentrated. Gabby's hand felt like it was slowly being immersed in warm water, and a soft hum travelled along the length of her body. "That was fine, Anders," she told him.

He opened his eyes and released her hand. "Hmm. They do say the ale at the Crown is a bit rough – maybe it's just knocked me off-kilter a bit?"

"I'm sure that's all it is, Anders," she replied.

"Anyway," he said, standing and clapping his hands together, "I'm going to tell _all _of the kitchen staff that the cheese is out of bounds to pregnant elves, and I'll dock them a week's pay if they defy me!" he threatened as he headed for the door.

"Shrew!" she called after him as he closed the door, and he strolled down to the kitchens with a grin on his face.

~0~O~0~

The four men who had camped on the banks of the River Dane for the night finished their breakfast and began to break up camp. Nathaniel had wandered off at dawn, returning with several fish, some of which they'd cooked and eaten immediately; the others he'd cleaned, gutted and salted, then wrapped in cloth, and had tied the bundle to his horse's saddle bag.

Chadwick sat on a tree stump next to his packed belongings, putting the finishing touches to his report. He and Nathaniel had been fairly quiet since their departure from the Tower, leaving Ambrose and Varel to do most of the talking.

"Is Nathaniel all right, Varel?" Ambrose asked with a glance over at the Warden. "He's awfully quiet."

Varel nodded. "He has a lot on his mind," he explained, and took Ambrose a little distance away. "Nathaniel is prone to occasional black moods, but he always comes out of them – it's just best to leave him alone until he does. I have no doubt that once he emerges, he'll apologise – he always does. He's nothing if not a gentleman."

"I had not thought him rude," Ambrose answered, "I was merely concerned."

"He's worried about Commander Surana," Varel elaborated. "Particularly in her condition."

"Oh, she is…?"

"Expecting, yes," Varel finished.

"Then they are married?" Ambrose asked.

"No, no," Varel said with a chuckle. "They're close friends – and he's very protective of his friends."

"Yes, I see that now," Ambrose mused with a nod, "and I remember how protective you and your men were of him when I placed him under arrest."

"We're a tightly-knit bunch," Varel said proudly. "I've worked at the Keep on and off for years, and only since the Wardens arrived have I truly felt like it's my home. We're like a family."

Ambrose looked at Varel for a moment and sighed. "I was wrong," he said quietly. "I can't believe we've wasted all this time when one of the men I was after was under my very nose."

"We're all allowed to make mistakes," Varel replied with a slap to Ambrose's back. "Even the Knight-Commander of Ferelden. You were as much a victim of Lucy and Talbot's schemes as anyone."

"You're a very gracious man, Varel," Ambrose said with a smile.

"Not at all," he replied gruffly with a smile of his own.

"Right, let's get going," Nathaniel said curtly with a glance at Chadwick, who quickly closed his notebook and stood up.

Varel and Ambrose walked over to him and watched as he pored over a map.

"Any thoughts on our route?" Varel asked.

"I think we should avoid West Hill," Nathaniel recommended. "It would be quicker, but the horses wouldn't take too kindly to it – they can sense things we can't," he added, referring to the arling's inauspicious reputation.

"The Bannorn, then?" Ambrose asked.

Nathaniel nodded. "If we make good time, we'll reach the Hafter River in three days. There's an inn there we can spend the night at – I think we'd all appreciate sleeping in a bed for at least one night of our journey," he said with a glance at Chadwick, who clearly was not used to life on the road.

"That would be most welcome," the King's envoy said.

"We can stop by at Dragon's Peak and hire a wagon to take you to Denerim," Nathaniel said to Chadwick, who bowed in thanks.

"Yes, that is how the…how the Grand Cleric and I travelled to Kinloch Hold," he said quietly.

Nathaniel and Varel glanced at Ambrose, who smiled thinly and nodded his head in appreciation of their concern.

"Ambrose – will you want to visit Aeonar while we carry on to Vigil's Keep?" Nathaniel asked.

"No – I will accompany you," he answered. "My men already have a head start on us; perhaps they will already have arrived at the Keep when we do. Besides, Aeonar is situated far south of Dragon's Peak, and to go there would add an extra day to our journey."

"All right," Nathaniel said, running his finger along the map. "I know a trade route that runs from Dragon's Peak to Amaranthine; we'll travel along that. It _is_ popular with bandits, however, but I'm certain the three of us can handle ourselves."

"If I were travelling with anyone else, I would be nervous at that prospect," Ambrose admitted, "but after having seen you in action, Nathaniel, I am not as concerned."

"They're often young lads wanting money for beer, or women," Varel said. "Nathaniel and I have travelled that route before, and he usually summons a giant spider to accompany us. Nobody will venture near," he added with a chuckle.

"A giant spider," Ambrose repeated flatly.

Nathaniel shot an amused glance at Varel. "Although a bear would probably suffice," he commented.

"A bear?" Ambrose asked with a relieved smile. "Yes, that would be a most effective deterrent."

Nathaniel allowed a small smirk to cross his lips, then walked over to his horse and swiftly mounted it.

"Let's get moving," he said. "We have a lot of ground to cover today."

Varel, pleased to see Nathaniel in a more purposeful mood, assisted Chadwick to load his horse, and the four of them set off at once across the Bannorn.

~0~O~0~

Anders entered Gabby's room precariously balancing a pitcher of water, a tumbler and a plate of dry toast in his hands. He walked over to her, set them down on her night stand, and plonked himself down on the bed next to her.

"How's my ickle champion doing, den?" he asked her belly in a babyish voice usually reserved only for Ser Pounce-A-Lot.

"Erm, _I'm _fine, Anders – thank you for asking!" she said, pointing to her face.

"I've got no sympathy for _you_," he said sourly, giving her a supercilious look; he then returned his gaze to her belly. "Has your mummy been force-feeding you cheese, den?" he asked, ignoring Gabby's horrified expression.

"Why are you talking like _that_?" she asked in consternation. "You're supposed to be making me feel better, not more nauseous!"

"Don't you listen to the _horrid _woman," he said in a soothing tone, pouring some water into the tumbler and passing it to her. "Luckily for you _someone _around here is sensible."

"Sensible?" she snorted and then winced, clutching at her belly. "Ooh…ooh! That was a really strong one!"

"Is he kicking?" Anders asked excitedly.

She nodded and set her water down; Anders bit his lip and tentatively reached over to her bump. "Is it all right if I…?"

She sat up and pulled her nightie over her bump, exposing her belly. "Be my guest."

"Thanks, Gabs," he said with an exuberant smile, and gently placed his hand onto her belly. "Hello, little fella," he whispered, and Gabby felt another kick.

"You know, Anders, I'm sure he responds to you," she said with a deep frown. "Whenever you talk to him, or whenever your name is mentioned, he moves!"

"Really?" he asked, his eyes lighting up. "What if I were to shout?"

"Don't you dare!" she warned, placing her hands on the sides of her belly.

"You daft mare! You don't have ears there!" he laughed, and the two of them shared a giggle. "So, you said he kicks when my name is mentioned…have you been talking about me behind my back, then?"

"No more than usual," she teased, and then she grinned at him. "Well, sometimes I talk to him, and I mention you, and…" she paused and shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

"No, tell me," he urged.

"Well, when I saw…" she began, and shook her head again.

His face dropped a little. "I don't mind you talking about Cullen," he said quietly. "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it? I don't expect you to just pretend he never existed, you know."

She sat back a little, and Anders removed his hand from her belly.

"I just don't want to make you feel awkward, that's all," she replied.

"Oh, Gabs, that's just like you," he said with a sigh. "Look - I want you to talk to me, to be able to get things off your chest. I, erm, I think I've been pretty selfish lately when it came to you and Cullen…"

"No, Anders," she said with a soft smile. "You're the least selfish person I know."

"Huh – you obviously don't know me as well as you thought you did," he answered wryly.

"I know all I need to know about you," she said.

He hung his head and grinned, feeling a little heat creep into his cheeks. "Tell me," he said.

She nodded, and moved onto her side so that she faced him. "Well, Cullen and I talked about you a little bit," she began. "We both agreed that I need to be here for you, as well as for Carlin."

Anders' mouth fell open, surprised by this revelation.

"He…Anders, before he left, he…" She laughed a little and shook her head. "I don't know if it was real or not, but…well, he showed me Carlin."

Anders cocked his head and frowned. "_Showed_ you? What do you mean?"

As she glanced at him, he could see tears in her eyes. "He showed me Carlin as a young man…I-I actually touched him!"

"Eh?" he exclaimed. "Was this a dream, or what?" he asked animatedly.

"It _was_ a dream, Anders, but it was so real…it was _him. _I felt like I knew him as soon as I saw him."

Anders sat up straight. "What-what did he look like?" he asked, his eyes shining.

"He looked like me," she said in an awed tone. "His hair was the same colour as mine, and he had my eyes…I just felt like I knew him, you know?"

Anders nodded quickly, unable to contain his excitement. "What else? How tall was he? What was he wearing? Did he speak to you?"

"Stand at the foot of the bed for a second," she requested. Anders was a little puzzled, but did as she asked.

She looked at him for a moment, comparing his stature to that of Carlin's. "He came up to about the height of your ears; not quite as tall as you, but tall enough. He towered over me, anyway."

"Who doesn't?" he quipped, and stuck his tongue out at her. She laughed and patted the bed with her hand; he returned and sat down next to her.

"Sorry," he said with a grin. "Did you speak to him?"

"No, but he spoke to me…I think he did, anyway. He told me he'd see me soon."

Anders' face fell as he looked at her. "Wow," he uttered. "Do you believe it was really him?"

"I do," she said with conviction. "It was like I knew him – there was this _connection _between us; I can't explain it." She glanced at him and smiled. "I only wish you could have been there, as well, Anders. I _know_ Carlin responds to your voice. He adores you."

Anders gulped as he felt a lump come to his throat, and immediately donned his happy mask, the one he'd worn so many times before when hiding his true feelings. "Well, of course he does! This is _me _we're talking about, after all!"

Gabby, however, was not fooled at all by his cocky façade, but played along. "Talk to him again," she said. "I want to see what happens."

His mask was immediately replaced with a genuine smile, and he nodded his head. "May I…?" he asked, reaching for her belly.

"You don't need to ask, you know," she told him.

He shrugged and placed his hand on her bump. "I've just always assumed that pregnant women wouldn't want everyone pawing at their bellies all the time, that's all."

"You're not everyone," she said softly. "You're his dad."

His breath caught for a second, and he looked away from her, idly scratching the back of his neck. "Well, I'm not, technically…"

"Anders," she said seriously, touching his face and turning his head toward her. "Alistair is his _father_. You're his _dad_. There's a world of difference between the two."

He nodded silently, and she removed her hand from his face. "I-I just…" he began, and then cleared his throat. "Anyway!" he chirped, softly stroking her bump with an expression that balanced precariously between laughter and tears. "Let's have a little chat, eh, Carlin? Man-to-man."

The two of them – the _three _of them – stayed together for over an hour, during which time Anders did most of the talking. He told Carlin of his days at the Circle Tower and of his attempted escapes, and he described his adventures in Amaranthine, which were occasionally corrected by Gabby when he started exaggerating. He then told Carlin that a grumpy, black-haired man and 'the boss' – both of whom Carlin would meet soon - were also off on an adventure of their own. He became a little quieter, then, and looked out of the window.

"I wonder how they're getting on?" he wondered with a faraway look in his eyes.

Gabby also became subdued at his question. "It was Varel's fiftieth birthday the other day, you know," she mumbled.

"Was it?" he asked, and she nodded. "Well, then – when he gets back, we'll have to throw him a party! Did you hear that, Carlin? A party!" he said to her belly.

"I just wish they'd sent word of some kind," she said morosely. "It's unlike Varel not to get in touch. Maker, I hope they're all right."

"You never know, Gabs – they could be on their way home as we speak," he said optimistically, although in truth he felt far from positive. "There wouldn't be any point in sending a message, would there? It'd take just as long to get here as they would."

"But how long do we wait, Anders? How long do we give it before we know something's wrong?"

He sighed and shifted on the bed. "That, I can't say, love. Tell you what – if we haven't heard anything by the end of the week, we'll send Oggie and Gil over to the Tower to see what's what, yes?"

"All right," she answered.

"Now then," he said, rising to his feet. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Do you want to finish that dry toast, or do you want a proper breakfast?"

"No, this will be fine, Anders – thank you."

"Well, I'm going to have a look and see what they've got down there. I'll have some hot water sent up to you. Do you feel a bit better, now?" he asked.

"I've told you before, Anders – you always make me feel better," she said with a heartfelt smile.

"It's a gift," he replied, beaming from ear to ear.

"I'll be down after my bath," she told him. "I don't think there will be any more 'incidents' today."

"Thank the Maker for that!" he exclaimed as he walked over to the door and opened it. "I wonder if the privy is safe to use, now?"

"Bloody cheek!" she called after him.

"Bye, Carlin!" he chirped as he closed the door.

~0~O~0~

Feeling refreshed – but still a little delicate – after her bath, Gabby dressed and wandered downstairs, dreading the thought of the tiresome end-of-month staff remunerations. As she entered the dining hall, she wondered if Anders would approve of the idea of just gathering the staff in the hall and throwing money at them.

Several members of the domestic staff and the Silver Order greeted her as she arrived, and she noted that Anders and Clemence were huddled together in a corner as she chatted with some of them.

"Gabby," Anders called over to her, his tone of voice curiously flat.

She made her way over to them, noticing their troubled expressions. "What's the matter?" she asked as she neared them.

"Tell Gabby what you've just told me," he said to Clemence.

"Well, I was taking a stroll earlier on, and I heard a yell," Clemence began. "I went to investigate, and one of the soldiers had been injured whilst sparring – nothing I couldn't handle, just a nasty gash to the shoulder."

She paused, and Gabby nodded.

"Go on," Anders prompted.

Clemence glanced at him before resuming. "I went to heal him, and…well, nothing happened."

Gabby's eyes darted to Anders. "But that's what happened to you, this morning!" she exclaimed.

"I tried again, and still it didn't work," Clemence continued. "It was as though my mana field had collapsed. After a moment, I tried again, and that time it was successful."

"And _had _your mana field collapsed?" Gabby asked.

"No – it was fine," Clemence answered. "That's what's so strange."

Gabby placed her hand over her mouth and considered this. "Where are Agnes and Gillespie?" she asked Anders.

"They're around somewhere," he said, looking around the hall, but not seeing them. "You want me to round them up?"

"Yes please," she said. "I think we need to get together and test each other."

"What about the staff remunerations?" Anders asked.

"Woolsey can do them," Gabby answered. "She'll moan, but it's too bad. We need to get to the bottom of this – something's wrong."

"All right, I'll go and round them up," Anders said.

"And I'll give Woolsey the good news," Gabby replied.

"Ooh – can I tell her? Please?" Anders begged. "I can't _stand _the old bag!"

"By all means!" Gabby said gratefully, and Anders scampered off, chuckling to himself.

"We'll meet you in the yard," she called after him, and he gave her a thumbs-up as he exited the hall.


	27. No Entry

_Carrie, I wish you a very long and lazy lie-in, and all the pampering you deserve! Thanks for giving the chapter the once-over!_

~0~O~0~

"Your Majesty, I _strongly_ urge you to reconsider this."

Eamon sighed and sank back in his chair, feeling his King's resolve harden with every second that passed.

Alistair had not turned out to be the sovereign he'd expected at all: he was belligerent, bull-headed and made most of his decisions with his emotions instead of his head. While this had made him very popular among his subjects, Eamon and the Palace courtiers were nervous that Alistair couldn't make the hard decisions necessary to get Ferelden back on its feet, and often likened him to a rebellious teenager who did the exact opposite of what his parent advised.

"Have you actually _read _this letter?" Alistair asked, waving Ser Smyth's missive at his regent.

"The poor man had clearly lost his mind," Eamon said dismissively. "You cannot base such a weighty decision on the ravings of a madman."

"I met Knight-Lieutenant…Knight-_Commander_ Smyth just after the Blight," Alistair told him, "and he seemed quite sane to me."

"Be that as it may, Sire, there is no saying what living in an environment such as the Circle Tower might do to a man; such a claustrophobic and regimented existence may have sent him over the edge."

"An existence that _I_ was doomed to until Duncan intervened," Alistair reminded him rancorously.

Silence fell as the two men stared across the table at one another.

Deciding on a change of tactic, Eamon relaxed his posture. "Perhaps you are correct," he said fulsomely, watching Alistair's expression, which remained hard. "I do advise, however, that we wait for Chadwick's report; perhaps matters will not seem so ill, then."

Alistair remained unmoved. "That remains to be seen," he said, "but I intend to get the ball rolling, nonetheless. _If _Chadwick's report shows nothing amiss, then _perhaps_ I will stand down from a full reform; it is clear to me, however, that changes of some kind are necessary."

Resisting the urge to smile at his small victory, Eamon nodded sagely. "A sensible standpoint, Sire."

"That will be all for now, Eamon," Alistair said in dismissal.

"Of course, Sire," Eamon said, rising to his feet. "Do not forget that Teyrn Cousland is due to arrive this evening."

"I know," Alistair replied, and waited for Eamon to depart before removing a small stack of papers from one of the drawers in his desk.

In the eight months since his coronation, Alistair had learned a great deal about court politics. At first, he had shunned such things, naively believing that good intentions alone would stand him in good stead; he quickly realised, however, that in order for him to free himself from the iron grip of his courtiers and advisors, he would have to play them at their own game.

Eamon believed that his King paid no attention to him whatsoever; Alistair had, in fact, observed his regent very closely, picking up on his gestures, mannerisms and the inflections in his voice, and by now was fairly adept at detecting Eamon's insincerity and personal agendas. If Eamon wanted to believe that the King was an incompetent naïf, that was fine; Alistair fully intended to press ahead with his reforms with or without his regent's blessing.

First, there had been the complete takeover of the Circle Tower - by one blood mage and his minions - that Alistair had witnessed first-hand; indeed, he had been the one to deliver the killing blow to Uldred. Things like that didn't just happen overnight: they took careful planning over weeks, even months. How had a small army of templars failed to notice anything untoward?

And the templars' - the Chantry's - solution to this problem of their own creation? Destroy _everything_ that moved within the tower. Alistair initially hadn't wanted to get involved in the happenings at the tower, and had tried to dissuade Gabby from doing so, until he'd heard the words 'Rite of Annulment' leave Greagoir's mouth. Although Alistair was still proud to call himself a former member of the Templar Order, he found some of the Chantry's methods dogmatic and excessive, not to mention archaic.

Also, according to Smyth's letter, after the tower had been scoured and most of its inhabitants found dead, Knight-Commander Greagoir had left his post under mysterious circumstances, and was replaced by Cullen, who, after being held and tortured by Uldred for almost a week, was clearly neither ready nor able to assume such a responsibility. Alistair shook his head as he leafed through the various reports Smyth had sent him detailing Cullen's harsh regime, and admitting to his own culpability in that regime.

Finally, Smyth had spoken of two templars who had been charged by the Grand Cleric to keep order at the tower, and had levelled accusations of threats, intimidation, lies and corruption against them, even going so far as to accuse them of covering up the circumstances of Cullen's murder.

It was painfully clear to Alistair that the Circle Tower of Ferelden had been in trouble for a long time, and yet he'd discovered that the Grand Cleric had not visited the tower in over two years. Alistair intended to have a very hard discussion with her upon her return, and almost hoped that Chadwick's report _would_ confirm the allegations in Smyth's letter – he knew he'd face firm opposition to his plans, and the more ammunition he had against the Chantry, the better.

His musings were interrupted by a knock at the door of his private chambers, and he bade the caller to enter.

It was Ffion, the Queen's lady-in-waiting.

"Please, forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty," she said with a curtsey. "The Queen said I might find you here."

"That's quite all right, Ffion," Alistair said, placing the documents back into the drawer and locking it. "What can I do for you?"

"Well," she said, doing her best to suppress a smile, "Her Majesty has some news that she would like to share with you, Sire; she is of the opinion that you will be pleased with it."

"Oh?" Alistair asked. "Where is she?"

"She awaits you in her rooms, Sire; when you are able, of course."

"Right, well, I'll go now, then," Alistair replied. "Thank you, Ffion."

With another curtsey, Ffion backed out of the doorway and departed. Alistair raised his eyebrows and pushed out his lower lip.

"Must be good news; makes a change," he commented to himself as he pushed out of his chair and set off to find his wife.

~0~O~0~

Padraig looked around the cavernous Harrowing Chamber and wondered why in the Maker's name the templars used such a huge room in which to conduct harrowings, suppressing a giggle as he pictured half a dozen of them running around in a circle after a demon, never to catch it, as it would have far too much room in which to evade them.

He folded his arms and tapped his foot impatiently, almost tempted to tell the templars he _knew_ what was going to happen – so get _on_ with it - but they were far too busy looking solemn and dignified to pay him much mind.

With a quick glance around to see if anyone was looking, he idly scratched his arse cheek then loudly cleared his throat.

Ser Riley's head snapped around toward him, and the acting Knight-Commander sent one of the mages who were busy preparing the lyrium over to him.

"Angmar, isn't it?" Padraig asked the mage as she approached.

"That's right," she answered with a nod of her head, looking back at the templars. "We're nearly done; it's always a bit boring having to wait around. I must say," she remarked with a glance up at him, "you don't seem very nervous – most people are."

"I'm a Grey Warden; I laugh in the face of danger," he stated boldly, puffing his chest out, then beckoned her nearer and lowered his voice. "Besides, I have it on good authority that the Harrowing's a piece of piss."

"Between you and me, it is," Angmar intoned quietly so that the templars wouldn't hear. "I don't think_ you'll_ have much trouble with it, anyway. When it's done, you'll be given your own private space on the second floor."

"Private space? But I have a _room_ on the _third _floor at the moment!" he protested.

"I bet it's lonely up there," she whispered. "We newly-harrowed mages have a lot of fun on the second floor. A _lot_," she repeated emphatically with a small smirk as she kept her eyes on the templars. "Perhaps you and I could, erm…"

"We are ready, Angmar," Ser Riley called over, and she re-joined him, but not before winking at Padraig as she walked away.

_Bloody hell! _Padraig thought. _Anders was right about this place – why the hell did he want to escape from it?_

"Padraig," Ser Riley said, beckoning him over.

The Warden walked over to where Ambrose's replacement stood next to a small plinth, atop which was a large bowl containing silvery-blue liquid. Padraig felt a gentle energy tugging at him as he neared, and found he could not take his eyes off the contents of the bowl.

"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him…" Riley began, snapping Padraig back to reality. "…Thus spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin. Your magic is a gift, but it's also a curse, for demons of the dream realm - the fade - are drawn to you, and seek to use you as a gateway into this world…"

Padraig did his best to listen, but became distracted as he felt his arse cheek begin to itch again. Looking around for Angmar, he realised that the mages had in fact left the Harrowing Chamber; looking at the templars instead, he noticed that their swords were already unsheathed, and his eyes were then drawn to a small cot near to the door, upon which lay a folded shroud.

_I'm not nervous, _he told himself. _Anders told me it was easy…mind you, Anders is full of shit most of the time. No, no he's not…he _was_ telling the truth about the women here, after all…_

"Whenever you're ready," Riley said, gesturing toward the bowl.

"Oh, erm, yes," Padraig replied as he stared blankly at the liquid. "What do I do with this, then? Drink it?"

"No!" Riley exclaimed, waving his arms frantically. "Just immerse your hand in it."

Padraig nodded once and placed his hand into the bowl; the lyrium felt cool against his skin, and after a few seconds his hand began to grow very cold.

"What do I do now?" he asked, looking around at the templars, who stared at him with their mouths agape.

"Erm…that should not have happened," Riley mumbled, at a total loss.

"What shouldn't have?" Padraig asked. "Look – can I remove my hand? It's starting to burn."

"Yes, yes," Riley said with a nod. "Bring the mages back in!" he ordered one of his men.

"What's the matter?" Padraig asked the senior templar, flexing his fingers to get the feeling back into them.

Riley shook his head and looked confounded. "Well, you should be in the fade, by now."

"Hang on," Padraig said with a laugh, "this is part of the test, isn't it? _You're_ the demon, aren't you?"

"The-the _what_? No!" Riley protested, and turned as Angmar and the other mages approached. "The lyrium mixture must be wrong," he told them. "It didn't work."

"No it isn't," Tybalt, one of the mages, insisted. "I've been mixing lyrium for harrowings for over six years, and I've never once got it wrong; I know what I'm doing."

"Well, perhaps the lyrium itself is of poor quality?" Riley offered.

Tybalt shook his head. "That's from the same batch of lyrium we used for Burnell's harrowing – there's nothing wrong with it."

"Well, would you make another lot?" Riley requested. "For whatever reason, this lot is unusable."

Tybalt shrugged. "All right then, but I'm telling you there must be another reason behind it."

Riley cast Padraig a suspicious glance.

"What?" he exclaimed sharply.

"Have you ever visited the fade before?" the acting Commander of the Tower asked him, to derisive laughter from the other mages.

"I've been into the fade_ several_ times," Padraig answered condescendingly, placing his hands on his hips. "I'm a _mage_?"

"We visit the fade whenever we cast a spell, although we're not consciously aware of it," Angmar reminded the templar.

"Well, I don't know, do I? He _is _an apostate," Riley replied with a sigh, and turned to Tybalt. "Please proceed."

Tybalt groaned and removed the bowl of lyrium, gingerly holding it at arm's length as he was accompanied by two templars into an anteroom.

"Does this mean I've got to hang around for even longer?" Padraig complained.

"The process will take approximately half an hour," Riley told him. "You may stretch your legs for a while, if you wish."

"Well, I'll show him around the second floor," Angmar offered, to which Riley nodded, and she gestured for Padraig to follow her.

"I know a particularly nice alcove I'm rather fond of," she whispered as they left the Harrowing Chamber. "For the _decoration_, you understand."

"Yes, I think I do," Padraig answered as they descended to the fourth floor, and silently thanked the Maker for bad lyrium mixtures.

~0~O~0~

Anders, along with Gillespie and Agnes, met Gabby and Clemence in the courtyard.

"I found these two skulking in a corridor, as well," he said, pointing his thumb behind him at Martin and Meredith, who followed the mages out. "Wouldn't want the two of them sensing all of that arcane energy in the yard, and coming out and _smiting _us or anything, would we?"

"You always have to spoil our fun, Anders," Martin commented good-naturedly. "What has been happening?" he asked Gabby.

"Clem and Anders have had a few misfires with their spellcasting this morning, and I want to see if it's affected all of us," she explained to the templars.

"Misfires? What do you mean?" Meredith asked, and the two healers filled them in.

"You know, I remember something like that happening once before," Martin said quietly. "In fact, it was not long after Uldred was killed at the tower."

Gabby and Anders exchanged glances. "Tell us what happened," she prompted.

"Well," Martin said, running his fingers through his hair, "after we'd…well, removed the bodies…" He paused for a moment.

"Take your time," Anders told him. "That couldn't have been pleasant for you."

Martin nodded. "Well, of the mages that were left, I remember that over the next few days, around half of them reported at least one incident of failed spellcasting."

"Did anyone ever find out the cause?" Clemence asked.

"To be honest, it wasn't a priority at the time," Martin said ruefully. "There was so much to do at the tower…I believe a few of the mages got together and conducted an investigation, but they found nothing conclusive. The problem only lasted for a few days, anyway, and it never reoccurred."

"I remember that," Meredith said. "I'd returned from the field to find…" He took a deep breath and shook his head. "…bodies were being burned across the lake. Whatever your opinion of templars may be," he said, addressing all of the mages, "these were mages and templars alike - people we'd known for a long time…some of them were youngsters."

Anders gently slapped Meredith's arm; Gabby nodded silently.

"Although the mages hadn't come up with anything solid," Martin added, "the general consensus was that there had been a disturbance of some kind in the fade." He paused, noticing Gabby and Anders' troubled expressions. "If only there had been time to properly investigate it," he finished.

"Well, we _do _have time now," Anders said purposefully. "I'm going to ask for a few volunteers from the Silver Order; we can test out our healing and enhancing magic on them. You three will have to use the training dummies," he said to Gabby, Gillespie and Agnes, all of whom used either elemental or entropic magic.

"Come on then," Gillespie said to Agnes, and the two of them walked over to the training grounds. Gabby remained where she was, deep in thought.

"Gabs," Anders said to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "The real world comes first, remember? Let's find out what's going on here, first, before we consider anything else."

"Yes, you're right, Anders," she said with a sigh.

"Of course I am!" he replied with a wink and a heartening grin. "Now, go and give those training dummies what for!"

"Yes – I'll show _them_!" she said with a laugh.

"That's my girl," he said encouragingly, and watched her walk over to the training area before rounding up his volunteers.

~0~O~0~

Padraig re-entered the Harrowing Chamber with a spring in his step and an impossibly smug grin plastered across his face. Angmar, who had a lesson to attend, had promised to visit him when he'd recovered from his harrowing, having warned him that he'd be unconscious for several hours afterwards.

"Ah, there you are," said Ser Riley, beckoning him over. "Are you all right?" the templar asked. "You look a little flushed."

"It's all these bloody stairs," Padraig answered readily. "I'm not used to them, yet."

"Ah, yes; I remember a similar experience when I first came to the tower. You will adjust in no time."

Padraig smiled easily at Riley, marvelling at how a man twice his age could be so callow.

"We're ready," Tybalt called over, and Padraig watched as he carried the bowl over to the plinth.

Riley gestured for Padraig to follow him, and, as he did so, he sincerely hoped that Anders had been telling the truth about the harrowing; he had a feeling he was going to like life at the Circle Tower.

He stood before the plinth and waited for the other mages to be dismissed, then half-listened as Riley resumed his rambling speech about magic and sin and Andraste.

"Begin," Riley instructed him, and, for the second time, Padraig dipped his hand into the lyrium. A few moments passed by.

"You must be joking," one of the templars mumbled.

Ser Riley groaned in frustration. "Remove your hand," he said to Padraig, who didn't need telling twice.

Without waiting for instructions, the templar situated nearest to the door opened it and called the mages back in. Tybalt entered first, and did a double take as he spotted Padraig standing next to the plinth, obviously _not _in the fade.

"Not again!" he exclaimed.

Padraig began to feel uncomfortable as he felt several pairs of eyes turn towards him. "Look – there's nothing wrong with _me_!" he objected.

"Well there's nothing wrong with my lyrium mix, either," Tybalt argued.

"Nobody said there _was_," Padraig answered. "Why don't you try sending another mage into the fade?" he suggested to Riley.

"Yes, that would be the next logical step," Riley replied. "Any volunteers?"

Tybalt stepped forward immediately. "I'll do it, if only to prove that my lyrium mix has never gone wrong in six years."

"Thank you," said Riley, and he stepped aside as Tybalt stepped up to the plinth.

"Get ready to catch me," he said to Riley as he plunged his hand into the bowl.

Nothing happened. "What…?" Tybalt muttered in disbelief.

The rest of the mages in the Harrowing Chamber also had a turn, with the same results: none of them were able to enter the fade using the lyrium in the bowl. The templars didn't even try to hide their incredulity, and began whispering amongst themselves.

"Can someone put me to sleep? Would that work?" Padraig suggested.

Riley shook his head. "Mages travel to a different part of the fade when they sleep; it is a unique part which is individual to them. It would not suffice for the harrowing."

"I'm not on about the harrowing," Padraig said, holding his hands up. "I just want to try it. Will someone put me to sleep, please?"

"Lie down," one of the other mages said.

Padraig did as instructed, and Mavis, one of the healers, crouched down next to him. "When you enter the fade, talk to us; we'll hear you."

Padraig nodded and closed his eyes as Mavis sent him to sleep.

A few minutes passed by, during which time Padraig remained still and did not speak.

"Is he in the fade, yet?" Riley asked Mavis.

She shook her head. "No, he's just asleep – he should have spoken to us long before now."

Riley closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in utter vexation. "Wake him up," he instructed.

Mavis reversed the sleep spell, and Padraig's eyes flickered open to find a small crowd surrounding him.

"Did you see anything?" Riley asked Padraig as the Warden pushed himself to his feet.

"No, I don't remember a thing," he answered.

"Did you not will yourself to enter the fade?" Riley asked.

"I've just said I don't _remember_ anything," Padraig replied irritably. "I didn't get a chance to, because I was neither conscious _nor_ aware."

"What is going _on_?" Tybalt asked nobody in particular. "Why can't we enter the fade? Has our connection been severed?"

"It can't have been," Padraig insisted. "Mavis' spell worked fine, and if our connection _had _been severed, then wouldn't we all be acting like the tranquil?"

Tybalt considered this for a moment and nodded. "Then just what is happening?"

Padraig, unable to add anything further, shrugged his shoulders.

"Ser Riley," Tybalt said, "I'd like permission for all lessons to be cancelled for today; we need to get all of the mages together and work out what's going on."

"Good idea," Riley replied, and snapped his fingers at two of his templars. "Get all of the magi – apprentices included – gathered in the library. All lessons are suspended until further notice."

"Yes, ser," they answered, and immediately left the Chamber.

"I'd like to assist you, Tybalt, if that's all right," Padraig offered.

"I would be glad of your help," Tybalt replied, and, after locking the lyrium away, the group departed the Harrowing Chamber and headed downstairs.


	28. Frayed Nerves

_A huge thank-you to Carrie for her record-breaking beta time! (And yes, I did notice you trying to sneak your American spellings into the edit. I reserve the right to stick unnecessary 'U's in everything!)_

~0~O~0~

"You are the leader of these people?" the elven warrior asked Cullen, who glanced at the rest of his companions and shrugged his shoulders.

"I wouldn't say I was their _leader_," he began. "I was the first here, yes, but…"

"You _are _our leader," one of the male mages said from behind him, laying his hand on Cullen's shoulder. "You have guided us, and have not seen us wrong so far."

"I-I, well, thank you," Cullen said modestly. "If it is their wish, then I will speak for them, but I would not presume to command them."

"A reluctant leader is the least susceptible to corruption, greed or arrogance," the elf reassured him with a gentle smile. "You must have many questions. I will do my best to answer them, if I am able."

"Well, what are we all doing here?" Cullen asked to nods and murmurs amongst the group.

"A great wrong was done upon all of you," the elf answered, "and therefore the natural order was disrupted. Equilibrium must be restored without delay, for all disturbances here will eventually manifest elsewhere, leading to devastation being wrought upon the mortal realm."

"The mortal realm?" Cullen asked with a frown. "How does what happens here affect that?"

The elf stepped forward and placed his hand on one of the mage's arms. "Many like our friend here dwell in the mortal realm. They are born with a connection to _this_ realm, but they are merely children, and have not yet learned to master their inherent capabilities. Little do they realise what they are truly capable of, but they are never permitted to reach their full potential."

The elf sighed and released the mage's arm, taking a few steps away so he could be seen by everyone. "That is a subject I am not qualified to speculate on, however," he continued. "Our friend here, and his kin, are conduits: the magi, as they are named, are conduits to this realm, which means that any dissonance in the natural order of things will be manifested in _them_. We must not allow such a thing to happen; the consequences to the mortal realm would be catastrophic."

"The mortals?" Cullen exclaimed sharply, a note of panic in his voice. "You mean like Gabby, and Anders, and the others? They're in danger?"

"All within their realm are in peril," the elf said gravely, "but the magi, particularly so."

"That's why you didn't want them here, isn't it?" Cullen guessed.

The elf nodded. "The mortals are precious and must not be allowed to come to harm; if they had learned of our plans, they would have offered aid. It would be unthinkable to us that even one of them be lost."

"_Our _plans? _Us_? To whom do you refer?" Cullen asked the elf.

The elf grunted softly to himself, annoyed at his slip. "There is another who is…_higher _than I. Alas, I can say no more."

Cullen nodded, his desire to press the elf on the identity of the _higher _one dominated by his concern for Gabby. "What if the mortals come after us?" he asked. "What if they try to return here?"

"They can no longer do so; measures have been taken to prevent their entry into our realm," he answered.

Cullen frowned. "Measures? Will they not notice? For how long will these measures be in effect?"

"They will already have noticed," the elf replied. "As for how long, I cannot say. It is an unfortunate but necessary step. It will cause some disruption in their realm, but nothing that will directly place in them in harm's way."

"Look here," Cullen said, feeling a little irritated at the elf's riddles. "There are people in the mortal realm I _care_ about. What do you mean when you say they will not be _directly _placed in harm's way?"

The elf held his hands up in appeasement. "Forgive me. I merely meant that their inability to enter this realm will not harm them. However, this may result in a weakening of their abilities, which could _potentially_ be harmful to them, should they find themselves in combat, or in need of aiding others."

"So the magi will lose their powers?" one of the mages asked.

"Possibly," the elf answered. "It will depend of the strength of their connection with this realm."

A quiet murmur went around the group as they whispered among themselves.

Cullen remained silent for a moment as he assimilated the elf's words. "What is this disturbance you speak of?" he eventually asked.

"One who once dwelled in the mortal realm now dwells among us," the elf answered. "For reasons that are known only to him, he seeks not only to disrupt the natural order, but to shift its balance in his favour. You, and your friends, are the only ones who can stop him."

"Why?" Cullen demanded. "Why us?"

"Because he is the reason all of you are here, and not still in the mortal realm," the elf answered. "It was not your time; only when you have vanquished him will justice be done and the natural order restored."

"But we have no weapons," Cullen pointed out. "We have no means with which to fight anyone."

The elf smiled softly. "You have been here but for a short time; you do not understand. You are no longer bound by the restrictions of the mortal realm, and neither," he said, stepping closer to the group, "are the magi. All of you are capable of so much more than you realise," he continued as he walked among them. "You will understand in time. Come; we have a long journey ahead of us."

"Where are we going?" Cullen queried.

The elf stepped back and looked upwards; the rest of the group followed his gaze up to a floating structure far above them in the sky.

"And how are we supposed to get up _there_?" one of the templars behind Cullen asked sceptically.

"You still think as a mortal would; that is understandable," said the elf. "I have much to teach you. Let us begin."

"Wait," Cullen said, reaching out to touch the elf's arm. "Who _are_ you?"

The elf considered his question for a moment. "I am the guardian of yonder city," he said, once again looking upward, "and I humbly ask for your help."

Cullen turned to face the group, and a brief consultation took place, before he turned back to the mysterious elf.

"You have it," he promised.

~0~O~0~

"Come on then, who won?" Anders asked as he plonked himself down on a dining room chair.

"I think I did," Gabby answered with a sheepish grin, taking her seat beside him. "Not a single spell of mine failed."

As Anders made a sulky face at her, Gillespie, Agnes and Clemence joined them. "Wrong," Agnes, a primal mage, said triumphantly. "It was a tie; none of mine failed, either."

"Three of mine did," Gillespie told them, "although none of my primal spells failed. What about our healers?"

Clemence sighed. "About half of mine did," she said heavily.

"_Half_?" Gabby exclaimed, and shook her head. "What about you, Anders?"

"Never mind," he said irritably.

"Anders, this is not a contest," she rebuked him. "We need this information."

"What for?" he retorted. "Do _you _know what to do about it? No! So what's the point?" he snapped.

"There's no need to get shirty with me, Anders!" she protested. "This is not _my _fault, you know!"

He huffed and leaned forward on the table. "If you _must _know, almost _all _of my spells failed. There, happy now? Even the Spirit Healing ones…they've _never _let me down," he grumbled.

"You mustn't see this as some sort of reflection on your manhood, you know," Agnes commented.

"And how would _you_ know?" he bit back. "You're not a man, and all of your spells were perfect. Don't claim to understand how I feel, Aggie!"

"Anders…" Gabby said soothingly, taking one of his hands in hers.

"Sorry, Anders; I didn't mean anything," Agnes said.

He tutted and fidgeted in his chair, and glanced down at Gabby's hand. "I'm sorry," he said abruptly, and, as he felt Gabby's hand squeeze his tighter, he took a deep breath and sighed. "I-I'm sorry; take no notice of me. This is…this is not a nice feeling."

"No, it's not," Clemence agreed with a sigh.

"I have no doubt we'd feel the same in your position," Gabby said to the healers. "Let's just try and ride it out. Martin said that something like this had happened before, and it had only lasted for a few days; with any luck, it'll be the same this time."

"But what if it isn't, Gabs?" Anders asked.

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, won't we?" she said with as encouraging a smile as she could muster.

Anders slumped back in his chair.

"Wine?" Gillespie asked his fellow mages, rising to his feet.

"Yes._ Lots_," Anders answered with a weak smile.

"Be right back," Gillespie said, and headed toward the kitchen.

"This wouldn't have happened if my spirit had been with me," Anders said, more to himself than anyone else.

"Ah, you met yours once, didn't you?" Gabby replied, reaching up to smooth down his hair, which was rather dishevelled.

Anders glanced down at his hands, her touch sending the familiar yearning for her throughout his body. He closed his eyes and pictured the Revered Mother naked, desperately trying to eradicate the image in his mind of Gabby grabbing the hair she had smoothed and pulling it in a violent fit of passion.

"Erm, yes," he mumbled.

Gabby readily noticed the tension in his shoulders and retracted her hand, returning it to her lap. She hadn't realised the effect touching him like that may have on him; she had intended to comfort his distress, only to add to his obvious discomfort. She shifted away from him in an effort to afford him some space.

"I've heard about that," said Clemence, who had noticed Anders' reaction when Gabby had stroked his hair. "Some healers have a spirit come to them, don't they?"

"Some," Anders replied, "but usually the mage is near death when it happens. There was a mage at the Tower who harboured a spirit of compassion; she travelled with you during the Blight, didn't she, Gabs?"

Gabby nodded. "Yes; the spirit saved her life by inhabiting her. She summoned it a couple of times. That was quite a sight, I can tell you."

"I _almost _had a spirit," Anders told them as Gillespie returned and passed some goblets around. "I know there's one there, lurking; he helped me out once, but I don't remember much about it, now."

"He saved your life?" Gillespie asked as he began to pour out the wine.

"He did, in a way," Anders answered, "but I wasn't injured at the time. Ah, Gabby's heard this before."

"I don't mind hearing it again," she said.

"All right, but I warn you, it's a bit depressing," he said. "After my sixth escape attempt, and subsequent capture, I was thrown in solitary confinement for a year. The templars couldn't really do much else with me, I suppose; they couldn't make me tranquil, because I was harrowed. They sent the hardest templar bastards they had to guard me; no Cullens or Bryants, _oh_, no."

He paused and anxiously glanced at Gabby, concerned he had offended her.

"Go on," she said with a soft laugh.

He nodded in gratitude. "Anyway, they did their best to make my life hell. They'd 'accidentally' drop my food on the floor, or would 'forget' to empty out my slop bucket for days, things like that. They'd stand outside my cell door and eat really nice stuff in front of me, and some of them would come into my cell and piss on the floor."

"Bloody buggers," commented Gillespie.

Anders snorted. "That's putting it kindly," he replied. "They never spoke a single word to me and never looked at me; they made me feel like I was nothing. They were _real_ charmers."

He straightened himself in his chair and sighed. "I had no idea of how long I'd been there for. Although I did my best not to show it, things started to get on top of me," he admitted. "Then, one night, I'd just had enough; I was feeling really low. Mr. Wiggums hadn't been in through the window for ages…"

"Mr. Wiggums?" Clemence asked.

"The Tower mouser," Anders elaborated. "He was the only friend I had in there. Anyway, I just felt really low in myself, and I decided that I was going to stop eating. I figured either I'd end up in the infirmary, or I'd die; either way, I'd be out of that blasted cell."

He glanced around at the other mages, all of whom, except Gabby, looked appalled.

"Tell them what happened next," Gabby said.

"Well, the cell was very dark, and I may have been hallucinating," he continued, "but, I dunno…I don't think I was. This is hard to explain…I couldn't _see _him, but I could _feel _him…"

"Who?" asked Gillespie.

"A man 'appeared' in the cell and crouched down next to me," he told his rapt audience. "He didn't speak, but I could hear his words in my head, you know? He told me I mustn't give up and that I had less time to serve of my sentence than I'd thought. His voice was so…so soft…" He paused for a second and cleared his throat. "He said that he would always be with me, and that I was very special, and that one day I would be very important."

"Well, he got some of it right," Gillespie teased.

"Yeah," Anders chuckled. "What I'm trying to say is, whoever he was, he _did _save my life. He was right about my sentence, as well; I was released about two weeks later. And then I escaped _again_," he finished with a grin. "And that time, I _stayed_ escaped."

"Well, we're very grateful you're here," Gabby said with a smile and raised her goblet. "To Anders' spirit."

"To Anders' spirit!" the rest of the mages chorused, and tapped their goblets together.

Anders took a deep pull of wine, and looked ruefully around the table at his friends. "Look, I'm sorry I was an arsehole before, Aggie, Gabs."

Agnes shrugged and waved her hand at him.

"It's allowed, on occasion," Gabby told him.

"Lucky for me that it is!" he said cheerfully, and pushed himself up. "I'll go and get some more wine."

"We have plenty here, Anders!" Gillespie told him as he walked away from the table.

"I'll erm, I'll just see what they've got," he replied without looking back.

"Well, if that isn't a _man moment_, I don't know what is," Agnes commented, and Clemence and Gabby nodded in agreement.

"What do you mean?" Gillespie asked.

"It's akin to saying 'I have something in my eye', or 'I'm going to make a cup of tea'," she answered.

"Pah! Rubbish," Gillespie scoffed as he took a gulp of wine.

~0~O~0~

Just as Nathaniel had predicted, he and his party reached the banks of the Hafter River after roughly three days of travel. Stopping for a brief rest, they dismounted their horses and led them over to the river for a drink.

"The inn's a few hours from here," he told his companions. "With any luck, we'll reach it before nightfall."

"Let's hope they have rooms available," said Varel as he massaged his back. "Gnarled tree roots and rocks are no good for an old bastard like me to sleep upon."

"This young bastard agrees with you, there," Nathaniel quipped and walked a little way away from the group, directing his gaze north-east.

Although Nathaniel had rallied round during the first few days of their journey, Varel had noticed his mood turning more sombre as they'd drawn nearer to Dragon's Peak. With a glance at Chadwick and Ambrose, who were tending to their horses, he walked over to Nathaniel and stopped next to him.

Nathaniel glanced at him and sighed. "So near, and yet so far, Varel," he said miserably.

Varel nodded. "We've made good progress though, Nathaniel," he said encouragingly, "and the weather has been favourable."

"Maker help him when we get back," Nathaniel said darkly, shaking his head. "I swear I'll cut him from ear to ear."

"That right is Ambrose's, should he choose to exercise it," Varel reminded him sternly.

"Not if he's harmed anyone," Nathaniel answered with a grim look.

"He has no reason to," Varel reasoned.

"Oh, like he had no reason to feign friendship with all of us, to live in our home, and to take refuge behind the Grey Wardens?" he asked bitingly.

Varel stepped in front of him and placed his hands on Nathaniel's shoulders. "I know how angry and worried you are; I feel the same way, but you mustn't let it consume you, Nathaniel," he counselled.

Nathaniel nodded and growled under his breath. "I just wish there was a faster way of getting home."

"I know," Varel said with a nod.

"Wait..." Nathaniel's eyes narrowed a little and he walked away from Varel, stroking his chin. "There is," he mumbled, his eyes suddenly lighting up. "There is a faster way!"

Varel grinned and took a few steps nearer to him. "What have you got in mind?" he asked.

"You and Ambrose carry on to the inn," Nathaniel instructed, pointing north. "It lies on the banks of the river; you can't miss it. I will take Chadwick to Dragon's Peak now, and I'll meet you at the inn tomorrow morning. That will cut almost a day off our journey."

"You have to sleep, Nathaniel," Varel protested.

"I haven't slept properly since we left the Circle Tower," he answered. "I'll catch a few winks on my horse after we set off from the inn. Come on, Varel; it makes sense."

"All right, then," the seneschal agreed after a moment of thought, and the two of them walked over to join Ambrose and Chadwick, where they apprised them of Nathaniel's plan.

"I'm afraid you won't get to spend the night at the inn," Nathaniel commiserated Chadwick, "but you're not missing much; it's a fleapit."

"You didn't tell us _that_," Varel said with a glance at Ambrose, who nodded his agreement.

"Well, there are plenty of gnarled tree roots and rocks outside, should the accommodation not be to your liking," Nathaniel said as he helped Chadwick to mount his horse.

"I'll bear that in mind," Varel replied dryly through pursed lips.

The two mounted men rode over and shook Ambrose and Varel's hands in farewell. "Have a safe trip," Ambrose said to them.

"Enjoy the inn," Nathaniel replied with a smirk as he and the King's envoy rode away.

~0~O~0~

Three days had passed since the spell-casting 'contest', and still there was no sign of the healers' abilities improving. Anders had grilled Martin and Meredith endlessly about their experiences at the Circle Tower following Uldred's death, and he and the rest of the mages at the Keep had met up several times to discuss the situation, but, in spite of their efforts, none of them were any closer to a solution.

Gabby was keeping a careful eye on Anders and Clemence, concerned that they would become despondent at the loss of their abilities; Clemence, although never a loud person to begin with, was particularly quiet, and Anders was being just a little _too _ebullient to be believable.

During what the Wardens called 'quiet time' at the Keep, which was in between lunch and the changing of the guard mid-afternoon, Gabby went in search of Anders, having not seen him for most of the day as she'd been occupied with arling business. The Wardens occasionally took advantage of this time to take a nap as none of them slept well during the night, and they'd settled into a routine of always having at least two Wardens awake at any one time.

Knowing that Clemence and Gillespie were up and about, she made her way to Anders' room, and quietly knocked on his door.

"Who is it?" Anders asked from inside.

"A pain in the arse who's come to disturb you," she replied with a giggle.

She heard a snicker. "Come in, Gabs," he said.

As she entered, Anders was pulling himself into a sitting position on the bed.

She held her hand up in front of her. "Don't get up," she gently urged, and Anders slumped back down onto the bed with a groan.

She walked over to the bed and sat down, swivelling her legs up onto it. Anders lay on his side, facing away from her.

"How's my favourite mage feeling?" she asked him.

"All right, I suppose," he replied. "Favourite mage, huh?" he asked as he turned a little to face her, noticing she was half-lying, half-sitting on the bed. "Flatterer."

"Me?" she drawled. "Never," she stated, smiling at him.

"I'm not sulking, by the way," he told her.

"Oh, really?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow. "What _are_ you doing, then?"

"Resting," he said flatly.

Gabby chuckled to herself. "And what exactly are_ you _resting from?"

"Well, I'm the Keep's entertainer, aren't I?" he said wryly. "It's such a drain keeping everyone's spirits up."

"Particularly when your own spirits are in your boots," she said softly.

He sighed and turned away from her a little. "Oh, I can't pretend with you, Gabs," he said quietly. "There's no point in even trying; you know me too well."

She wriggled down the bed and lay behind him, wrapping her arm around his chest and laying her head on his shoulder.

"Careful," he warned, "I might get ideas."

"I just thought you could use a hug," she replied, snuggling closer to him.

"I could," he whispered and closed his eyes, feeling his insides glow. "Thanks, Gabs."

"Travellers on the road!" a loud voice called from outside.

Anders shot off the bed and ran toward the window; Gabby, not able to move as quickly as she used to, sat herself up.

"Can you see anyone?" she asked.

"There are two men on horseback," he said as he squinted out of the window. "Wait; there's a third horse, but there's nobody on it."

Gabby scrambled off the bed.

"It's not Nate and Varel," he said quickly, holding his hand up. "Wrong colour horses." He moved aside a little to allow Gabby to look out.

"They're wearing very shiny armour," he observed.

"Anders, I think they're templars," she said with a panicked glance at him. "Are those skirts they're wearing?"

He craned his neck as far out of the window as he could, and then looked back at Gabby. "Whatever they're wearing, it's dark red."

"Come on," she urged, feeling anxiety bloom inside her belly.

"Hang on, let me get my boots on," he said, and quickly sat down on the bed, pulling them on.

"What do you think they want, Anders?" she asked him nervously.

He stood, walked over to her and gently clasped her arms. "Only one way to find out," he said, walking over to the door and opening it for her. "By the way, you owe me a hug. We didn't finish that one."

"You bet," she replied, putting on a brave face as they exited the room.


	29. On The Home Stretch

_Massive thanks to Carrie for slapping me upside the head (in her usual nice way) :-) Oh, and I promise that none of my templars will be meowing in the near future ;-)_

~o~O~o~

As Anders and Gabby descended the steps from the main Keep, the templars were already at the gate, both of them having dismounted. One of them talked to the guards while the other stood in front of the third, seemingly rider-less, horse.

"Ah, here's the Commander now," said one of the guards as he turned at the sound of footsteps behind him.

"Hello, Lennox," said Anders, recognising the templar who stood with the guards.

"Anders," he replied with a nod, and turned to Gabby. "Gabrielle…I mean, Commander…"

"Gabby is fine," she told him with a glance at the second templar, who seemed preoccupied with the third horse. "What brings you here?"

Lennox's face fell and he looked behind him, gesturing to his fellow templar. "Erm…" He removed a letter from his pocket and handed it to Gabby. "This is for you, from Warden Howe."

Forgetting her manners, she gasped and snatched the letter out of his hand, tearing open the seal while Anders suddenly seemed to take a great interest in the second templar tending to the horse, and made his way over with Lennox.

_Dear Gabby,_

_I don't have time to explain now, just be assured that Varel and I are fine, and, with any luck, we'll be on our way home soon._

_If you are reading this, then our suspicions were correct: the men who bring this letter travel with Tristan Smyth, who was wrongfully imprisoned at Aeonar._

"Aeonar!" Gabby exclaimed without reading the rest of the letter. As she ran forward to the others, Anders looked at her gravely.

Slung across the back of the third horse was a man dressed in filthy, tattered clothes; as Anders and the two templars lifted him off the horse, Gabby caught sight of his face; he was gaunt and deathly pale, and his beard unkempt, but there could be no mistake: it was Tristan.

"Maker," she whispered. "What-what's happened to him?"

"He's in a bad way," Anders said as he and the second templar, Declan, began to carry him toward the Keep. "We've no time to lose."

"Wait, Anders!" said called, running to catch up with them. "His family's here, remember? Take him through the servant's entrance; I don't want his sister to see him like this."

"You mean this is the Knight-Commander?" Anders asked, and she nodded. "Bloody hell! What did he do to deserve this?"

"Apparently nothing," answered Lennox, shaking his head, as they made their way to the servants' entrance of the Keep. "There's been a lot going on at the Tower lately; you wouldn't believe most of it."

"Has he been deprived of lyrium?" Anders asked the templars.

"Without a doubt. Half-starved, as well," Declan answered.

"Shit!" Anders muttered. "I might kill him if I give him some now, and yet, it I don't…fuck!"

"We've been giving him a little of ours," said Lennox, looking anxious. "We didn't know what to do for the best, and now we've exhausted our own supply."

"I'll go and get some prepared," said Gabby, turning away from the men.

"Thanks, Gabs, and find Clem, will you? I'll need all the help I can get. And I'll need hot and cold water, and some broth or something similar."

"I'm on it," she promised as she took off in the opposite direction.

~o~O~o~

"I thought Nathaniel said this place was a fleapit?" Ambrose commented as he and Varel entered The Drunken Duck and looked around. Although nothing fancy, the inn was warm, homely and inviting, and the tempting aroma of roast boar wafted through the air.

Varel grinned and rolled his eyes. "Nathaniel's sense of humour. Come on, I'm bloody starved."

The two of them approached the bar, bidding good evening to several patrons sat at tables on the way, who nodded or replied in kind. A stout, red-headed man behind the bar greeted them as he polished a tankard.

"Evening, fellas, welcome to The Drunken Duck. What's your pleasure?"

"Have you any rooms for the night, ser?" asked Varel.

"Indeed we do," he answered. "We have nice rooms, and we have more basic ones, but all are clean and warm."

"What are your terms?" Varel enquired.

"Well, say if you both want one of the 'nice rooms', you get dinner, cooked breakfast in the morning, and I'll throw in a complimentary ale. Call it…a sovereign each," he said with a shrug.

"That sounds quite fair," said Varel, producing the necessary money.

"Thank you, ser," the bartender said, taking the coins from Varel. "Go and find yourselves a seat, and I'll bring your ale over. Just one thing, ser," he added, directly addressing Ambrose.

"Yes?"

The bartender leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I respectfully ask you to leave your templar 'hat' at the door, and collect it when you leave in the morning. You're most welcome here, but I'll not have any of my patrons harassed."

Understanding his meaning, Ambrose nodded, but made a mental note to have future patrols keep an eye on the inn. "I'll not bother anyone tonight, ser," he promised.

"Good. Make yourselves at home, gentleman," he said, and turned away from them. "Two dinners, warrior portions!" he called into the kitchen.

"Right!" a female voice answered.

They found a small table next to a roaring open fire, and the bartender quickly brought their drinks over. As they relaxed, Varel supped his ale; Ambrose stared at his, as though he didn't know what to do with it.

"I haven't had ale since I was a recruit in Denerim," he explained, noticing Varel's curious look. "We used to sneak off at night to the Gnawed Noble. Most of the patrons in there knew us, and would turn their backs on us as we entered, so, if questioned, they could swear they hadn't seen us drinking in there."

Varel chuckled and took another sip, setting his tankard down and sighing in satisfaction.

"I really shouldn't be drinking this at all," said Ambrose with a guilty look.

"Well, did you take a vow never to drink alcoholic beverages?" asked Varel.

"No," he answered with a grin. "We do have wine with our meals occasionally, so I suppose it won't hurt."

"Then drink up, lad; make the most of it. This is damn fine stuff."

Ambrose nodded enthusiastically and took a deep gulp of ale, closing his eyes in pleasure. "Maker forgive me, but that tastes good!" He wiped off his foamy moustache and grinned.

"That it does," answered Varel. He clasped his hands together and leaned forward a little. "So, how are you feeling, Ambrose? About this...situation?"

Ambrose set his tankard down and glanced over at the fire. "I don't know what to make of it. At first, I felt fury, and prayed to Andraste for temperance. She has answered me; I no longer feel anger, but I do feel confused. I don't understand…" He paused and shook his head. "He's a good man, Varel. I don't know how he came to be involved in all of this."

"I'm going to have to keep Nathaniel on a tight leash," Varel answered thoughtfully. "He wants the man's head."

Ambrose nodded slowly. "That is understandable; he is concerned for his friends. _I_ want to speak to him, though, try to gain some understanding of what…" He took another sip of ale and sat back. "I know that many of the men had what they believed to be good reason to stop Cullen, but, after looking through the logs, he was one of the few who escaped corporal punishment; in fact, his record is near flawless. For him to have been party to Cullen's murder is…unthinkable."

The two men straightened themselves up as a serving girl carrying two huge trenchers approached their table.

"Ah, that looks fine indeed, miss," Varel commented as she set down two mountains of potatoes, vegetables and roast boar.

"More ale, gents?" she asked.

"Keep them coming, sweetheart," Varel replied, pressing a few coins into her hand.

"Erm, I'll stick to wine from now on, if that's all right?" asked Ambrose, feeling his ears and cheeks begin to turn numb.

"Bottle of wine, then," Varel instructed the girl. "Nothing too strong, mind."

"Right you are," she chirped, and, glancing around, bent down a little, her bosom threatening to spill out of her blouse as she did so. Ambrose dramatically cleared his throat and kept his eyes firmly on his dinner. "Will, erm, either of you be requiring a bed warmer tonight?" she asked quietly. "It's just that I knock off in about an hour…"

"Is this part of the service?" Varel asked with amusement. "If so, this is the finest bloody pub I've ever had the fortune to visit."

"Oh, no," she whispered. "Just something I do to make a few extra coins on the side."

Varel did his best not to laugh as he could almost feel the heat pouring off Ambrose's face. "Not tonight, darling," he answered. "Perhaps another time."

As the girl turned to leave, Varel discreetly clasped her wrist and nodded almost imperceptibly. "Sorry to have troubled you, sers," she said with a knowing smile, and sashayed her way back to the kitchen.

Varel, very admirably keeping a smug grin off his face, began to tuck into his meal.

~o~O~o~

After arranging for food and water to be sent to the room where Anders and Clemence tended to Tristan, Gabby went to find Martin and Meredith, suspecting she would find them in their prayer room; the time was just before supper, and they always offered a prayer of thanks to the Maker prior to eating.

Not wishing to disturb them, she waited outside, sensing two Wardens but hearing three voices coming from within; she surmised that Conn had joined them on this occasion.

After a short while, the door was opened, and Meredith greeted her. "You don't have to wait outside, you know," he said, gesturing for her to enter.

"I didn't want to interrupt your prayers," she replied, taking a seat on a small bench.

"Hello, Gabby," said Conn, rising from his knees. "I haven't seen you for a while."

"I know Conn, and I'm sorry; I have been meaning to catch up with you. How are you getting on?"

"Great!" he chirped with an infectious grin. "Lieutenant Blisset is really impressed with my archery!" He hung his head and grimaced. "Erm, I shouldn't be conceited about that, should I?"

Martin laughed. "Taking pride in one's own abilities is not sinful; only when that pride turns to swagger or hubris do we need to seek Her gentle counsel."

Conn grinned bashfully and shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm glad I've found you all together," said Gabby, shuffling up the bench to make room for the three men. "Please, sit down for a moment."

The templars exchanged glances and quickly took a seat next to her.

"I'm afraid I have some rather…disturbing news," she said quietly, watching them carefully; they looked at her expectantly.

"Knight-Commander Smyth is here," she began, noticing vague confusion on the templars' faces. "He, erm…he is gravely ill, I fear."

"What ails him, Gabby?" Martin asked with concern.

She took a deep breath and sighed. "He has been deprived of lyrium, and is near-starved…"

"What?" asked Martin. "How did this happen?"

"I had a letter from Nathaniel," she explained. "Tristan was unjustly incarcerated at Aeonar. He's been there for over three weeks, and has not been treated well."

A heavy silence fell as the templars struggled to absorb her words.

"Anders and Clemence are with him at the moment; I'm so sorry, they are not optimistic."

"What was he doing at Aeonar?" Meredith blurted out, clearly distraught; Martin and Conn sat in stunned silence.

"Nathaniel wasn't clear on that; he obviously wrote the note in a hurry, as his penmanship was disorderly, for him. Two templars arrived with him, and they've hinted that Tristan had found proof of who was involved in Cullen's death. Obviously, an attempt was made to silence him."

Martin stood and began to pace the room; Meredith rested his head in his hands. Conn's face turned a deep shade of red and he wrung his hands together. None of them spoke for a moment.

"I really am very sorry," she said quietly as she stood up.

"Can-can we see him?" Conn asked shakily, his hand obscuring his face as he spoke.

"Anders and Clemence have advised that he has as few visitors as possible for the moment," she answered. "If we think that…well, you will be notified immediately, and of course may commend him to the Maker."

"Thank you for telling us," Martin said heavily.

"I will send your two brothers down here to see you," she told them. "Also, I would be grateful if, should any of you see Tristan's sister, that you do not mention anything for the moment. I know she has a right to know, and I do intend to speak with her, but he is in a bad way at the moment. Only if he improves or is on the verge of death will I take her to him."

"Of course," Martin said softly. Gabby noticed Meredith watching Conn with concern, and he placed an arm around the youngster's shoulder.

"I will leave you now." Martin opened the door for her. "You will hear any news as I hear it," she promised.

Hearing the door close behind her, she rested against a wall and exhaled deeply, and then made her way to the kitchens and arranged for supper to be sent up to the healers. Although she'd done her best to comply with Anders and Clemence's request to stay away, her concern for Tristan began to eat away at her, and, after having a small bite to eat, she made her way up to the room where he was being cared for.

She knocked quietly at the door, and, hearing nothing from within, waited patiently. After a few moments, the door was opened and Anders peered around it.

"Oh, it's you, Gabs," he whispered, opening the door for her to enter.

She slowly walked over to the bed, hardly recognising the man who lay there. He appeared to have aged by twenty years, and his normally dusky skin had a sickly, pallid tone. His eyes were closed and he mumbled softly to himself.

"Oh, Tristan." She faltered, placing her hands over her mouth.

Anders closed the door and joined her at his bedside. "He's taken some fluids, but won't eat. I gave him a little lyrium, but I don't even know if that's the right thing to do."

She nodded and, noticing the grave concern on Anders' face, took one of his hands. "You're doing the best you can, Anders."

He immediately released her hand and walked over to the window. "I don't think my best is going to be good enough. I can't do _anything_ to protect him; if I had my magic I could keep his strength up, could ensure he's kept alive until we can get some food down him…I can't even cast a lifeward; that's one of my most basic spells!"

"What about Clem? Where is she?" Gabby asked.

Still facing the window, Anders folded his arms. "She's gone for a rest; we're going to take it in turns to stay with him during the night. She's struggling too, Gabs. We can't cast a single healing spell between us." He paused, and she noticed the tension in his posture. "Oh, I could set _fire_ to him quite easily, but that's not really going to help him, is it?" he barked.

Gabby sighed and cautiously made her way over to where he stood, stopping a few feet away from him, suddenly feeling resentful of the complication that had cropped up between them recently. Only a few weeks ago, she would have hugged him and kissed his cheek without a second thought; now though, even a comforting gesture such as that may easily be misconstrued.

She remembered the way he'd reacted when she'd touched his hair at the dining table; he'd almost recoiled from her. She'd felt awful, thinking she had made him uncomfortable, and yet not long after, she'd climbed onto his bed and had wrapped herself around him.

Had she really been comforting him, or had she, too, needed that physical contact with him?

She looked up at her husband-to-be; he towered over her, but as she watched him, she realised that the hurt and anxiety he had been feeling of late were taking their toll, and he somehow seemed smaller. She felt a strong desire swell within her to soothe him, to take some of his burden away, but could she give him what he really wanted?

Could she make that leap? From friend to lover?

She knew they were to be married, and that the kind of intimacy she knew he craved from her was a natural part of marriage.

Friend to lover. Would it be so terrible?

The image of Cullen flashed through her mind; he was the one she truly loved, yes, but he was gone, and, although she'd promised to keep a piece of her heart only for him, could she not also find room for Anders?

"I owe you a hug, don't I?" she asked softly from behind him, and saw his shoulders rise as he inhaled deeply.

"It's all right, Gabs, you don't have to," he said tersely.

She took a few steps nearer and stood between him and the window. "I want to, if it's all right with you."

"Gabs, look, I'm worn out and I really don't feel…" His words were cut off as she settled against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist.

She felt his sigh rumble against her face, and his hands slowly rested on her shoulders, winding her hair around his fingers.

"Look at him, Anders," she said, meaning Tristan. Anders turned a little to face the sickly Knight-Commander.

"When he first arrived here, he was like a sack of potatoes," she continued. "We didn't think he'd make it up to this room. Now, yes, he's still terribly ill, but he has a little more colour, has had some fluids, and is semi-conscious. You're a healer, Anders; it's what you were born to do, and magic has nothing to do with that."

"I know what you're trying to do, Gabs," he replied, turning back to face the window. She took a step back and looked up at him. "I just don't feel like a…like a whole person without it," he admitted.

"Well," she said, taking his hands. "I can't claim to know how you're feeling, but I can tell you this: you don't need magic to be 'magical', Anders."

He hung his head and his mouth twisted to the side as he tried his best not to grin, but he failed, and a broad smile lit up his features. "You are daft, you know, not to mention cheesy."

She shook her head, keeping a hold of his hands. "No, I'm not. You're the kindest person I've ever known; you'd give your last silver to a stranger and I've seen you moved to tears by a sad story. Tristan is a templar, the embodiment of everything you stand against, and yet you dropped everything as soon as he arrived because he's in trouble, and you're angry at yourself because you can't do more for him."

She released his hands and gently clasped his arms. "Magic is a part of you, yes, but it doesn't define _you_ as a person. As a man, Anders, you're more _whole _than anyone else I know. You're _special_."

He glanced up and finally met her eyes, a soft smile on his face. "Well, I may be special, but you're still daft," he joked.

"All right, I'll meet you halfway: I'll admit to being daft so long as you do realise how special you are," she answered, meeting his smile with her own.

"Fair enough," he finally agreed, his smile faltering as their conversation lulled. "Uh, did you need to talk? Shall we step out into the hall?"

"Will he be all right without you?"

"If we keep it short, yes," he answered. "Besides, I could use a change of scenery."

They stepped out into the hall, Anders allowing her to pass through the door. He couldn't help but notice that she stayed close when he reached around her to close it.

"So," he began, his senses rioting at her nearness. "Have you learned, uh, anything else? Did those templars have any more information?"

"No, it seems we'll have to wait for Nate to fill in the blanks," she said softly, looking up at him.

_Do something, Anders, _he urged himself. _Step away or say something clever!_

"Gabs?" he whispered.

"Yes?"

"I can smell your hair."

_Oh, brilliant, Anders!_

"I-it's fruity, I like it," he stammered in an attempt to claw back a shred of dignity.

She burst out laughing, and ran her fingers through her hair. "Is that another of your famous lines? Like 'your eyes are the colour of asparagus'?"

"They _are_ the colour of asparagus!" he protested. "Mind you, in this light, they're a sort of…" He moved an inch closer to her face and looked deeply into her eyes. "…forest green, deep and dark."

"Your eyes look dark brown in this light," she said.

"So what colour do they look normally?" he asked, painfully aware that his close proximity to her would cause _issues _very shortly.

"Chestnut," she answered immediately, and he tilted his head a little at the speed of her reply. Having his focus centred on her so intensely, she felt an awareness of him that she'd never experienced before. She slowed the rest of her answer. "A rich...warm, chestnut."

"Gabs?" he asked again, looking at her lips.

"Yes, you may," she answered.

His lips parted a little in surprise, and his brow furrowed; what did she mean by that? Did she mean…

"I may what?"

"Kiss me," she said softly. "Isn't that what you were about to ask?" she inquired, her eyes wide.

He licked his own lips nervously, feeling every nerve ending on his body tingle. "No," he whispered, lowering his lips closer to hers. "I was wondering who's got the handsomest bum, Oghren or Zephyr? It's a poll I'm taking."

"Anders, just kiss me."

"Oh…" His mouth fell open and he hesitated for a second, feeling like a young lad about to have his first grope.

_No groping, Anders!_

Slowly, he moved his hands upwards, taking care not to brush them against her breasts, and gently cupped her face. She smiled and placed her hands on his chest, easing herself closer.

"Gabrielle," he whispered, and bent over a little as she stood on her tiptoes to meet him. He bit his bottom lip and grinned as her lips slowly pressed against his, and laughed softly, his nose wrinkling, as rapture bubbled up inside him.

Feeling braver, he moved his hands through her hair and deepened the kiss, parting her mouth with his and softly sucking against the inside of her lips. Her soft moan in response was beautiful music to him, and he desperately needed an encore, but, feeling a twitch beneath his robe, and remembering who lay in bed on the other side of the door, he decided that chivalry was the order of the day, and very reluctantly pulled away.

The two of them immediately hung their heads and giggled, not able to meet the other's eyes; Anders was just glad that she hadn't looked horrified and run away like she had before.

"Another practise for the wedding then, eh?" he quipped, needing to say something to expend some of the nervous energy that had built inside him.

"Precisely so," she answered, looking at her hands, which still lay across his chest. "Or some such thing."

Her teasing comment sent a jolt through him, but he knew now was not the time to investigate.

"Hey, I'll take whatever I can get, love," he replied, and the two of them once again shared a laugh. Anders glanced up at the door, and reached past her to open it. Gabby turned back with him to look at Tristan, who had fallen into a deep sleep. "Well, I'd better live up to my title of _healer_…" he said proudly, "…and check on my patient."

"Would you like me to stay with you until Clemence takes over?" Gabby offered.

"I'd like that very much," he replied, and crooked his arm.

Gabby slipped her arm through his and they walked, arm-in-arm, over to Tristan's bedside.


	30. The Calm Before The Storm

_A huge thank you to Carrie for giving the chapter the once-over. :-) Also, thank you to all of you for lurking, reading, favouriting and alerting, and in particular to those of you who leave reviews and PMs; you are the ones who keep this story going.  
_

~o~O~o~

The morning sun shone bright and early, and Gabby rose with it, something unusual for her.

Her mind had been fully occupied, making sleep difficult, and Carlin had been very active during the night. A newer aspect of her pregnancy was the constant need to pass water. She would awaken to the urgent sensation, certain she was about to burst, only to race to the privy and be astonished at the small trickle that passed out of her. It was maddening. Up until now, she'd refused to entertain the idea of having a chamberpot under her bed, but reluctantly conceded that she may have to in the near future.

She went down to the kitchen and made two mugs of tea, carrying them up to Tristan's room. She entered without knocking, not wishing to wake either Clemence or Tristan if they were asleep, and was surprised to find a dozing Anders, and not Clemence, sitting in a chair next to the bed.

Quietly closing the door, she padded over to the bed, setting the mugs of tea down on the sideboard with a dull thud. Anders stirred and his nose twitched, his eyes lazily opening and slowly roaming up towards Gabby.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she whispered, passing him his tea.

"S'right," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "Z'only having a snooze."

"How is he?" she asked, noticing that the two men were holding hands.

Anders sat up and yawned, stretching his neck and his legs, but he didn't release Tristan's hand. "He's still the same, pretty much, although he did take a little soup during the night." Noticing Gabby looking at their hands, he shrugged. "He reached out for me during the night. I think he just needed to know someone was there, you know?"

She nodded and sat on the bed between them. Anders took a sip of tea and grimaced. "Gabs! There's no sugar in this! What are you playing at?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sorry! I was expecting Clem, not you."

"Excuses, excuses," he teased, shaking his head, setting down his bitter-tasting tea. "I couldn't sleep; Clem took over for a couple of hours, but I relieved her after a bit. We had a chat and decided that I'd keep an eye on him mainly at night, and she'd do it during the day. You know me, Gabs; I always was a night person."

"So I won't see much of you during the day, then?"

He shrugged. "Sorry, Gabs, it's more practical this way. Clem and I will be able to get a proper rest, and that way we'll be of more use to Tristan. Tell you what; so you don't feel left out, you can be my tea-bringer-upper. With _sugar_, mind."

"I would be highly honoured," she answered with a grin.

Anders returned her smile and then glanced over at Tristan. "He really is amazing, you know. I honestly expected him to go during the night, but he has some strength in him, I can tell you." He then looked back at Gabby. "How's mummy doing?"

"Carlin was really restless during the night, and so was I; I had to keeping going for a wee."

"Ah; I'm afraid that'll only get worse as time goes on," Anders warned, and laughed at Gabby's crestfallen expression. "Don't worry though, Gabs; in a few months' time that'll be the last thing on your mind."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you'll have swollen feet, stretch marks, varicose veins, backache, piles…"

"_Piles_?" she exclaimed, her eyes widening in horror.

"Like a bunch of grapes," he answered, unable to resist a snigger.

"Thanks," she snapped, standing and placing her hands on her hips. "You're _supposed _to be supporting me, not mocking me!"

He clasped her arm and gently pushed her back onto the bed. "I'll be with you, every step of the way," he promised with a wink.

"Will you heal my piles, then?" she asked.

He snorted. "Without magic? I'm not _that _bloody supportive!"

"Cullen…"

Gabby and Anders' heads snapped toward Tristan, who was whispering to himself. "Cullen," he repeated.

"He's, erm…he's been calling for him all night," Anders explained. "I didn't want to say anything."

She glanced at Anders, then at Tristan. "Well, they were very close, in a way." She sighed. "He knows he's dead; I'm not sure why he's calling to him."

"I think he's dreaming, or maybe hallucinating," Anders surmised. "Gabs," he said seriously. "He might not actually remember, or realise, that Cullen's dead."

"Why?" asked Gabby.

He groaned. "Like I said, he's a strong man, physically at least. The fact he survived the night is a very good sign, and it's made me very hopeful. What I mean, though, Gabs, is that I don't think he'll be the man you remembered. He's had bits of lyrium, here and there; Lennox and Declan believe that someone in Aeonar had been slipping him some, but I don't think it'll be enough: the damage is done. It could have affected his memory, or...his higher functions. There's no way to know at the moment."

She nodded slowly and looked at the floor; Anders shifted in his chair and took her hand with his free one.

"Even if I had my magic, Gabs, I wouldn't be able to do anything. I'm really sorry."

"Do you-do you think the templars might know anything?" she asked him.

He shook his head, his mouth set in a hard line. "The Chantry doesn't _expect _its templars _ever_ to come off lyrium, so hardly anything is known about lyrium withdrawal, except that the victim is left confused, weepy and tormented by hallucinations," he said, anger informing his words. "No research has ever been done, and there's no known cure for it. It makes my blood boil, it really does."

"I met a templar once who'd been deprived of lyrium," she replied in a hushed tone. "Ser Irminric. He-he…he made me cry." Anders stroked her hand with his thumb. "He was…I-I can't imagine Tristan ending up like that, Anders…"

"Like I said, I don't yet know how he'll be affected. It might not be as bad as you think…well, no, Gabs, there's no guarantee of that. I'm sorry." He released Tristan's hand and pulled her over to him, settling her in his lap. "I'll do everything I can for him, Gabs, I swear."

"I know you will," she replied, and laid her head on top of his, draping an arm around his shoulder.

"Gabs," he said after a moment. "I, erm, I wanted to say something. I-I just wanted to say thank you for what you did last night. For whatever reason you did it, well, you really made me believe in myself again, and, erm…well, you're not a bad kisser at all."

He smiled as he felt her body shake with laughter. "You're no slouch yourself, either," she replied, and touched his jaw with her hand, gently pushing his head up to meet hers. "And as for reasons, Anders, well, I thought it was about time I got on with my life, and, in the absence of Nate and Varel, it was a choice between you and Oghren. It could have gone either way, really; you just happened to be around at the time."

"Cow," he retorted, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Gabby, laughing softly, placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "If it makes you feel any better, you _do_ smell a bit nicer than Oghren; I think that's what swung it for me." She sniffed at his neck. "Mind you, you _are _a bit frowsty at the moment."

"Well, I _have _been sitting up all night in a chair! I'm sorry if I don't smell of dewdrops on daisies!"

"Excuses, excuses," she chided, pulling herself out of his lap and standing up. "I'll have a bath drawn in your room for you."

"Is back-scrubbing a part of a tea-bringer-upper's duties?" he asked hopefully, tilting his head to one side.

"No, it isn't." She laughed, and then, glancing at Tristan, her expression became more serious.

Anders got up and stood next to her. "Listen, Gabs," he said softly. "I know that things between us aren't straightforward…" He held his hand up to silence her protest. "I just want you to know that you're in charge, here. We'll take things at a pace that suits you; I don't want you to feel you have to _do _anything. Let's just…see how things go, yes?"

"You're a gentleman," she said with a smile.

"Nonsense," replied Anders, bending over and placing a kiss on her cheek. "Will you have some hot water sent up here, Gabs? I want to give him a wash before Clem takes over."

"Certainly will," she answered, and turned to leave.

Anders watched her intently as she walked away from him, entertaining some distinctly un-gentlemanly thoughts as she closed the door.

~o~O~o~

An exhausted but happy Varel made his way down to the lounge area of The Drunken Duck, and found Ambrose sitting with Nathaniel, who had arrived a short time ago. Both were tucking into a hearty breakfast.

"Maker's breath, Nathaniel, you look like death warmed up!" Varel commented to the yawning, lily-white Warden.

"Nice to know I can rely on my trusty seneschal to boost my self-image," Nathaniel replied sleepily, taking a bite of toast.

"Good morning," said Ambrose as Varel took a seat.

"It certainly is!" chirped Varel in reply, languorously stretching his arms.

One of Nathaniel's eyebrows shot up. "Why are _you_ so bloody chipper?"

"Why, indeed?" Ambrose asked, his own eyebrow exceeding the height of Nathaniel's.

Varel shot him a glance; he was certain that he'd been discreet the night before, and was surprised that Ambrose seemed to be aware of his nocturnal activities.

"My room was next to yours," said Ambrose, keeping his eyes firmly on his plate. "The walls are not thick."

Nathaniel watched the exchange with interest, wondering what they were talking about. Ambrose straightened up and fidgeted as the big-bosomed serving girl approached their table.

"What'll it be, Varel?" she asked the grinning seneschal.

"The full works, please," he replied, patting his belly. "I've worked up quite a hunger."

"Yes, I already know you have a _very_ healthy appetite," she replied, wiggling her eyebrows, and her hips, as she walked away.

Nathaniel snorted as he watched Ambrose's face flush as red as the tomatoes on his plate. "I see you've made yourself _right_ at home," he said to Varel. "Dirty old sod."

"There's many a good tune played on an old fiddle, as they say," Varel remarked. "Isn't that right, Ambrose?"

"I really wouldn't know," he sniffed, and his companions sniggered like naughty schoolboys.

"All right," Varel said after a moment. "Enough teasing. How was your trip to Dragon's Peak, Nathaniel?"

"Fine. I saw Chadwick onto a wagon; he should arrive in Denerim this afternoon."

"Good," said Varel. "Well, once we've eaten, I think we should set off, or do you need a couple of hours' kip, first?" he asked Nathaniel.

"No, I'm all right," he answered through another yawn, "although I can feel it starting to catch up on me."

"We'll only need to make camp once more before we arrive home," said Varel. "Tonight, Ambrose, you and I will take watch between us, and Nathaniel can get a good night's sleep. Agreed?"

"Of course," Ambrose replied.

"I appreciate that," said Nathaniel. "We'll all need our wits about us when we get back. Are you sure _you _won't need more of a rest, old man?" he asked Varel with a smirk.

"Bugger that; I feel like a twenty-year old," Varel chirped, once again stretching his arms above his head, a fat grin on his face.

Ambrose's posture once again stiffened as the serving girl sauntered over with Varel's breakfast, giving them all an eyeful as she bent over the table.

"Who's your friend?" she asked Varel with a glance at Nathaniel. "Pity he wasn't here last night."

"Yes, a pity, indeed," Nathaniel answered nonchalantly, sipping at his tea; his attention was on Ambrose, and he watched with amusement as the Knight-Commander squirmed in his chair, the girl's breasts looming dangerously close to his face.

"Well, enjoy your breakfast," she said to Varel. "I've slipped _you_ an extra sausage. A nice _thick _one_."_

Tea suddenly exploded out of Ambrose's mouth, drenching a distinctly unimpressed Nathaniel.

"_Thanks_," he hissed as he stood up, dashing tea out of his eyes, "but I've already _had_ a wash."

"I-I'm terribly sorry," spluttered Ambrose as a scowling Nathaniel stalked to the washroom; Varel sat back and chortled as he crammed his extra-thick sausage into his mouth.

~o~O~o~

As predicted by Nathaniel, Chadwick arrived in Denerim just after tea time, and, on his arrival at the Palace, he was immediately granted an audience with the King.

Alistair took him into his study and bade him to sit, ordering refreshments for his trusted envoy.

"Your Majesty, before you read my dossier, I fear I bear grave tidings," said Chadwick as he waited for the King to sit, before taking his own seat.

Alistair's eyes widened as he braced himself. "Go on."

"The Grand Cleric, Sire…she is dead."

Alistair blinked several times and picked up his goblet, taking a gulp of wine, as his mouth had suddenly turned bone-dry. "At the tower?" he asked, and Chadwick nodded. "What happened?" he demanded.

"You will find a detailed report in my dossier, but his Majesty may wish to avoid some of the more…graphic details."

"Just tell me, Cyrus," ordered Alistair.

Chadwick dipped his head reverently. "A mage at the tower became possessed by what I was told is a Desire Demon, Sire. The demon attacked several people; sadly the Grand Cleric was fatally injured."

Alistair's hands covered his mouth and he closed his eyes. "Was anyone else killed?"

"Several templars were lost, Sire. The demon was eventually vanquished by the acting Knight-Commander."

Alistair's eyes snapped open. "_Acting _Knight-Commander? What's happened to Smyth?"

Chadwick shook his head. "Following an internal investigation, the acting Knight-Commander believes that Ser Smyth was taken to the mages' prison at Dragon's Peak."

"_What_? Whatever for?"

"Because he uncovered evidence of those involved in the death of Knight-Commander Cullen, and two of the Grand Cleric's agents had him imprisoned there to cover up their own culpability."

Alistair's mouth dropped open. "Is he still there?" he asked, horrified.

"Acting Knight-Commander Ambrose sent two of his men to free Ser Smyth; I am not certain if they have reached the prison, yet."

"Maker's breath!" Alistair exclaimed, rifling through Chadwick's dossier. "Is there anything else? Does it get any worse?"

"I fear it gets much worse, Sire. I would respectfully advise that his Majesty reads my dossier in its entirety; I, of course, will remain on hand should any clarification be required."

A knock came at the door. "Enter," instructed Alistair.

A tray of refreshments was brought in by a servant. "Just on the desk, please," said Alistair without looking up from the reports, and the servant placed the tray down, bowed before departing, and closed the door behind him.

"Better get some food down us, Cyrus," Alistair advised. "I have a feeling we're going to be here for quite a while."

~o~O~o~

Over the next couple of days, thanks to Anders and Clemence's diligence, Tristan began to show small signs of improvement; although he continued to slip in and out of consciousness, he had taken more liquids and a small amount of soft food, and his colour had improved dramatically.

Sadly, however, he had not appeared to recognise Gabby on the few occasions she'd spoken to him, and, when he did speak, he didn't make much sense. He still continued to call for Cullen, and neither Gabby nor Anders had had the heart to tell him the truth, fearing it may cause his condition, already fragile, to deteriorate.

"I think he's out of danger, now," Anders told Gabby as they talked outside Tristan's room. It was supper time, and Anders had sent Clemence down to eat before he did, intending to take over for the night when he returned.

"What about his mental condition though, Anders?" asked Gabby. "Do you think there will be any improvement in that?"

"I'm sorry, love, but it's just too early to say. The most important thing for now is to get his physical strength up and to keep him alive, and then we can work on everything else."

"You've both done a wonderful job, Anders," she told him, reaching for his hand.

He grinned down at his hand and chuckled. "And you're a first-rate tea-bringer-upper," he complimented her, before a sour look crossed his face. "But you're a _lousy_ back-scrubber."

"Sorry!" she laughed, "I'm working on that."

"You know," he said, sidling closer to her, "I haven't had a kiss all day. I think it's only fair that I get some recompense for my services as a healer."

"Well in that case, I'd have to give Clemence as kiss, as well," Gabby mused.

Anders' eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "Oh, _please _say I can watch!" he begged.

"You are _awful!_" she exclaimed with a playful punch to his arm.

"Do you want me to shut up?" he asked. "You know my terms." He puckered his lips and stuck his head in front of Gabby's, closing his eyes. She clasped his shoulders and puckered her own lips, softly pressing them against his.

"What do you call _that_?" he asked with dissatisfaction, screwing his face up as she stepped away.

"A kiss," she answered. "Now you have to shut up."

"That wasn't a kiss," he said, gently backing her against the wall and taking her face in his hands.

"_This_ is a kiss…"

He took her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged at it gently, smearing her top lip with his thumb and slowly introducing his tongue to her mouth; she received it enthusiastically and took it between her own lips, sucking on it and lightly nipping at it with her teeth. Feeling a jolt run through him, Anders' breathing began to quicken, and he pressed his body hard against hers, tightly wrapping his arms around her, one hand clasping the back of her head. Gabby's hands ran slowly up his back, brushing against the sensitive skin on the nape of his neck; he shuddered and threw his head back, breaking the kiss.

"Ah, Maker, Gabs!" He quickly removed his arms from around her, and, panting, placed one of his hands over his eyes. Gabby slumped against the wall, softly laughing to herself.

"You're right, Anders; that _was _a kiss!"

"I, erm, I think I got a bit carried away, there, Gabs; sorry about that," he said, not even trying to sound sincere.

She cleared her throat and straightened her hair. "No you aren't, and neither am I."

He giggled and softly stroked one of her arms, winking as she looked up at him.

She took a deep breath, smiling wickedly, and exhaled. "Perhaps we should go down for supper?" she suggested with forced casualness.

Anders peered into Tristan's room; he was fast asleep. "All right, then; just a quickie," he said with a sideways glance at her.

"Awful, just awful," she said, shaking her head as she walked down the corridor. Anders skipped after her and grabbed her hand as they walked; the two of them eventually glanced at each other and shared a soppy grin.

They walked, hand-in-hand, into the dining room, to several amused glances and hushed coos.

"This'll give the gossiping fuckers something to talk about," Anders muttered out of the side of his mouth.

Gabby's face contorted as she desperately tried not to shriek with laughter; instead, she turned away from the people sat at the dining tables, and she and Anders walked over to the counter, where they each piled a plate with food.

The dining hall was packed, and they just managed to squeeze in between some of the domestic staff at one of the longer banqueting tables. Wine, or, in Gabby's case, ginger ale, flowed freely at the table, as did warm conversation and banter, and the two of them soon relaxed and began eating their meal.

A little later in the evening, the guards' shift changed over, and several of the Silver Order and Vigil's Guard arrived; several people rose to make way for them, but the table Anders and Gabby sat at remained full. One of the Silver Order, Malachy, squeezed in next to Anders, causing everyone else to shuffle along, and he placed his plate down on the table.

"Blimey, Mal, do you want to sit on my lap?" Anders asked him.

Malachy chuckled to himself and cast a surreptitious glance at Gabby, who sat on the other side of Anders, talking with the person to her left. "Anders," he said in a quiet aside. "Don't react to what I'm about to say."

Anders looked down at his plate, casually sliced a piece of beef, and nodded.

"Warden Howe and Seneschal Varel are outside."

"Right," Anders said quietly, taking a bite from the end of his knife and looking straight ahead.

"They want to see you and you only. They do _not_ want the Commander, or anyone else, to know of their presence until they've spoken to you. They're by the five oaks in the northern field."

"Gotcha," he mumbled. "Thanks."

He waited for a few moments before pushing himself away from the table and standing.

"Where are _you_ going?" Gabby asked.

"Problem with the drains again," he said smoothly.

"Oh, you are _so _on your own with that!" She chuckled, turning back to speak to her neighbour.

"Back in a bit, love," he said, and kissed the top of her head before exiting the hall.


	31. Anders Takes Charge

_Carrie, thank you for your sterling beta job, for being a friend in a million, and for doing something unbelievably kind when I was feeling low._

~o~O~o~

After supper, one of the Wardens went up to his room to wash, and to say a few words of thanks to the Maker. It wasn't mandatory that he prayed after meals; he'd already done so with his fellows before he'd eaten, but it was something he liked to do, feeling it lent structure to his day and kept him disciplined.

He entered his bedroom. It was much larger than the one he'd occupied at the Circle Tower, and he still felt unaccustomed to its space and openness.

Sitting down on his large bed, he untied his sash from around his waist, carefully folding it and placing it on his nightstand; he then reached down to remove his boots. He was no longer required to wear templar plate, but old habits die hard, and his pride in his service to the Maker was something he had no desire to hide.

He found he was now proud to count himself a Grey Warden. Although the Wardens had been less active as of late, their vigilance was still necessary, and he took pleasure in being part of their revered Order.

What he was most grateful for, however, was the kinship he shared with his fellow Wardens. After a shaky start, he even counted Anders, the Circle Tower's most infamous apostate, among his friends, now, and Gabby was also more a friend than commander.

_Gabby_.

He paused and sat up straight as he thought of her. She'd been so good to him, so kind and accommodating. She'd looked beyond their differences and had accepted him as a brother, and had provided him with a home. Not only that, but she'd provided the templars with a private room in which to pray, had crafted lyrium for them, and had done what had never been thought possible at the tower; she'd brought mages and templars together as equals, something he approved of.

And what had he done for her in return? He'd helped to kill the man she loved.

He'd had no idea of Gabby's previous relationship with Cullen, only finding out after she and Anders had been into the fade.

He'd watched as the tears had rolled down her face as she lay asleep; he'd seen the sorrow in her eyes as she'd awoken. He'd been present when she and Padraig had discovered that Cullen was no longer in the fade, and, upon waking, had asked them all to leave her alone.

It was then that the enormity of what he'd done truly dawned on him.

Living at the tower had been intolerable under Cullen's rule. Although he'd never been a victim of one of Cullen's punishments, many of his friends had, and it had grieved him to see so many of his fellow knights treated so wretchedly.

He'd warned his roommate, Clifford Magnusson, on several occasions to break off his dalliance with one of the mages, fearing the consequences to his close friend if they were discovered; sadly, his fears had been realised when one of the new intake of templars had reported discovering Clifford in a compromising position with his lover.

After learning of Clifford's death, he'd immediately gone to the chapel to pray for his friend's soul, as well as to ask forgiveness for Knight-Commander Cullen. On this occasion, however, Andraste had not heard him, and he'd found himself consumed by anger and mounting bitterness over the conditions under which he, and his brothers, were forced to live.

One night while patrolling outside the apprentices' dorm, he'd stopped and listened to a whispered conversation between Jerome - Clifford's lover - and another apprentice. Jerome had spoken of his desire for vengeance and had laid out a plan; the only remaining element he needed was the assistance of one of the templars to gain access to Cullen, and to prevent the Knight-Commander from dispelling his magic; although the templars' resistance to magic was high, they were not immune to it.

As he'd listened, his next action had become clear: he'd known that Smyth was still on duty, and that he should be informed immediately.

He hadn't informed him.

If only he had, then the poor man wouldn't have been taken to Aeonar; perhaps Smyth could even have prevented Cullen's death, but, if he had, then things would _still _have been the same at the tower, and things had _needed _to change.

He blinked several times, returning to the reality of his room, and rubbed his forehead with his hand.

Gabby and Smyth weren't the only people who weighed heavily on his conscience. When Ambrose had arrested Nathaniel, he'd come so close to confessing.

So close, but he had not.

Nathaniel Howe had also been good to him; he'd tried to teach him archery and had had the decency to warn him and his brothers of the dangers of the joining, despite hinting that he was forbidden to do so. He'd fervently hoped that Nathaniel would be able to clear his name, but, as several weeks had passed since his arrest, that seemed less and less likely.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned, knowing he faced another night of broken sleep. With a groan, he rose from the bed and knelt down, clasping his hands together as they rested on his thigh.

"Holy Maker, creator of life, I beg your forgiveness in the name of your most revered bride, Andraste.

"Forgive me my sin of lust, for it has led me astray.

"Forgive me my sin of wrath, for it has interfered with your Holy right of justice.

"Forgive me my sin of pride, for it has placed my purpose before Yours.

"Forgive me my sins, Holy Maker; I beseech you to remember your mercy in the name of your most worthy bride."

He opened his eyes and remained kneeling for several minutes, before he rose and walked over to the window, intending to watch the sun set over the Keep.

He watched as the Keep's Guard settled into their positions for the evening under the direction of Captain Garavel, and the lamps were lit in the courtyard in preparation for the coming darkness. His eyes then wandered to a lone figure, dressed in a blue robe, heading away from the Keep; he squinted and watched as the man, whom he surmised was Anders, approached the circle of oak trees outside the northern wall.

As Anders neared the trees, three men on horseback emerged, glancing around. One of the men, dressed from head to toe in black, dismounted first and was immediately swallowed in a bear hug from Anders. The black-clad man quickly pulled away and slapped Anders' arms as the other two dismounted; Anders shook the hand of the second man, who was clad in silver armour, but did not greet the third man, who wore templar armour.

He took a step back from the window and held his breath as the four men appeared to be holding an intense discussion.

Suddenly, Anders broke away from the group and charged toward the Keep; he was quickly stopped by the man in black, who grabbed his arm and talked to him again. The man in silver armour briefly interrupted them before heading for the main gates of the Keep with Anders, while the other two walked over to the outer wall, disappearing from sight.

He leaned heavily on the window sill and took several deep breaths; after taking a moment to collect himself, he looked up at the rapidly-darkening sky, and nodded.

"I see your purpose, Maker, and submit to Your will."

Turning from the window, he retrieved his sash from the bed and fastened it around his waist. He then walked over to the corner and took his sword from its stand, sheathing it on his hip; if he was to face justice, he would do so properly attired.

Taking one last look around his room, he swallowed down a bitter lump of regret and closed his eyes for a moment; he then turned and exited, slowly closing the door behind him.

~o~O~o~

Anders had done his best to appear casual when he'd crossed the courtyard, but anyone watching would have seen he was agitated. As soon as he was out of the gate, his pace, and his heart, quickened.

Nearing the five oaks, several sets of horses' legs came into Anders' view, tucked back under the shade of the trees, and one horse moved forward and halted, its rider dismounting.

"Nate!" Anders called, and strode ahead, ignoring Nathaniel's proffered hand, instead smothering him in a crushing hug. Nathaniel returned the embrace, with several back slaps for good measure, and managed a brief chuckle before pushing Anders away, keeping a hold of his arms.

"Damned good to see you, mate! Those bastards didn't have anything on you, then?" asked Anders, and Nathaniel shook his head.

"I knew it!" Anders continued. "So, did they ever work out who _was_ responsible? 'Cos I'd like to know myself," he added, a menacing tone creeping into his voice.

The other two horses were brought forward, and Ambrose and Varel dismounted. "Well met, Anders," said Varel, offering his hand, which Anders shook.

"You too, Varel," Anders replied, his look of relief giving way to outright hostility as he set eyes on Ambrose. "What's _he _doing here? And why are you lot hiding out here?"

"It's all right," Nathaniel urged, "he's on our side. Look, I don't have time to explain everything; I just need you to answer some questions, and then I'll tell you what's going on."

Anders' glare lingered on Ambrose for a moment longer. "Go on, then," he said eventually.

"Has anything untoward happened here while we've been gone?" asked Nathaniel.

"Erm, well, yes, actually. Clem and I have lost our powers, and most of the other mages have been affected to some degree; all except Gabby and Agnes, really."

The three other men exchanged glances, and Ambrose, who appeared intrigued by this, stepped closer. "Have you ascertained a cause?"

"Not yet," Anders said warily, looking the Knight-Commander up and down. "Gabby thinks there may have been a disturbance in the fade."

"So Gabby's well, then?" Nathaniel asked, and Anders nodded. "Has anything else happened?"

"Yes, the drains have been playing up again," complained Anders, completely oblivious to Nathaniel rolling his eyes impatiently. "They've been so bad, I was able to use them as an excuse for coming out here."

"Nothing else?" Varel prompted.

Anders shrugged. "Like what?" he asked, a frown forming on his features. "What's this all about, Nate?"

Nathaniel's head fell back and a collective sigh of relief was heard amongst the three men. "Anders," Nathaniel said seriously. "Who survived the joining?"

"Martin and Meredith; Conn didn't actually take the joining, did he? Why do you ask?"

Nathaniel's face dropped for a second as Varel and Ambrose looked grimly at one another. "Luke…didn't survive, then?" asked Nathaniel quietly.

"Sorry, Nate," answered Anders, shaking his head. "I know you were friends with him."

"And _he did _survive," Nathaniel growled, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he stared at a point in the distance.

"Who? What are you _on_ about?" Anders asked, completely confused and becoming annoyed.

"We know the identities of Ser Cullen's murderers," offered Ambrose. "One of them is dead; the other resides within your Keep."

"Wha…?" spluttered Anders, his eyes darting between the other three men. "Don't be daft! Meredith and Martin are as soft as shit! And they're my friends; they wouldn't have done something like that! _And _they've comforted Gabby when she's been upset over it. Are you saying one of them is just pretending to be sympathetic?"

"We have a signed confession implicating him, as well as reams of statements and written accounts all pointing the finger at him, Anders," said Nathaniel. "The evidence against him is overwhelming."

Anders backed down from his indignant stance and turned away from them to face the Keep. "Who?" he asked in a low voice.

Nathaniel glanced balefully at Varel and Ambrose and stepped closer to Anders. "Meredith Willoughby."

Anders' teeth dug into his bottom lip and he stared, unblinking, at his home, which now housed a murderer who had masqueraded as a friend.

"I'll fucking kill him!" he blustered, stalking toward the Keep.

Nathaniel ran forward and grabbed his arm. "Wait, Anders! We can't just…"

"Do you have any idea of how devastated Gabby was when Cullen died? Do you?" Anders interrupted.

"Of course I do, but we…"

"That _bastard_, from day one, has professed friendship towards us, and has expressed _regret _over what happened to Cullen, knowing full well how it affected her! _And_ we have one of your templars here," he said to Ambrose, "suffering from advanced lyrium withdrawal because of him!"

"Smyth is here?" Ambrose gasped. "Advanced…?"

"Yes, he's in a right fucking state!" yelled Anders, lowering his voice as Nathaniel touched his arm. "All because of Meredith," Anders hissed. "He was supposed to be our _friend_."

"Anders, believe me, I'd like nothing more than to gut him myself," Nathaniel said, "as I almost ended up in Aeonar because of him, but we can't just go charging in. We don't want him to panic."

"And may I remind you both," added Varel, "that Willoughby is under Knight-Commander Ambrose's jurisdiction, and _he_ must ultimately decide what is to be done with him."

"No, he's _not_," argued Anders. "He's a Grey Warden and he falls under _our _jurisdiction."

"Then it is Commander Surana's decision," said Varel.

"Gabby's off duty, now," said Anders, "and _I'm_ in charge during the night. That fucker's _mine_."

"I won't argue with that, Anders," said Nathaniel in a placating tone, "but will you at least hear me out? Then you can decide whether or not to go with my suggestion."

Anders looked at Nathaniel doubtfully.

"Come on, Anders," Nathaniel whispered to him. "You've admitted it before; you can't think straight when you're angry."

"All right," Anders snapped. "Just make it quick."

"Thank you," Nathaniel said, placing a hand on Anders' shoulder. "The only ones who know of our presence here, besides you, are Garavel and some of his men; let's keep it that way for now. Varel is going to speak to Garavel and arrange for the nightly security sweep to be completed a little earlier than usual, so there are fewer men in the courtyard. What I need you to do, Anders, is enter the Keep, find Meredith and think of a reason to bring him outside; he can then be quietly taken into custody. You need to do this while giving _no _indication that anything is amiss, and, if possible, keep Gabby out of it. Can you do that?"

"Gabby will have to know sooner or later," Anders protested.

"Of course," agreed Nathaniel, "but in her current condition, wouldn't it be better for her to hear it from you, in private, than for her to witness a shouting match, and possibly a fight? There's no way of knowing how Willoughby will react, and she's going to be upset enough as it is: we're talking about one of Cullen's murderers, here. Can you do this, Anders?" he repeated.

"I don't know, Nate," Anders sighed. "You know me and my big gob."

"Our success depends on _you_," Nathaniel urged, clapping Anders' shoulders. "You _must_ keep your emotions in check."

Anders considered this for a moment, and, reluctantly forced to conclude that Nathaniel was right, he nodded. "All right, Nate, we'll do it your way. So long as I get to have a pop at him when he _is _caught."

"Straight after me, Anders," Nathaniel agreed with a grim smile.

"Are we ready?" asked Varel, and the other three nodded their confirmation. "Right, I'm going to talk to Garavel, then," he said, walking toward the Keep. "Nathaniel, Ambrose, stay out of sight for now; Anders, you come with me."

~o~O~o~

Alistair and Elissa ate their supper at a small table set on a balcony overlooking the Palace gardens; although the King and Queen usually dined with several others, tonight Alistair had wanted her all to himself.

"I'll probably be away for a few weeks," he told her. "The acting Knight-Commander is at Vigil's Keep right now, so that will be my first port of call, and then I'll accompany him back to Kinloch Hold."

Elissa nodded and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. "Please give my regards to the Warden-Commander while you are there, and extend an invitation for her to visit with us. It was a pity she was unable to attend the wedding."

Alistair cleared his throat and took a sip of wine from his goblet. "I will," he replied. "Anyway," he continued, changing the subject, "Eamon will be remaining here to offer support; the two of you will have to preside over the appointment of the new Grand Cleric."

"Oh, you _really_ know how to spoil me, don't you?" she teased.

Alistair grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "I know, I know. It's not the most exciting of tasks. Just remember something," he added, his tone becoming serious. "_You _are the Queen, not Eamon."

"I should hope not," she replied. "Somehow, I don't imagine he would fit into any of my gowns."

"No, he doesn't really have the hips, does he?" Alistair quipped, and reached over to take his wife's hand. "I still can't believe there's a little me in there," he said softly with a glance at her belly.

"It may be a little _me_," she countered.

"Only if we're lucky," he replied with a warm smile.

She returned his smile and gazed into his eyes. "Do try not to be away for too long, husband; I shall miss you. _We _shall miss you."

"I'll miss you, too, my dear," he said sincerely. "Although you should make the most of the peace and quiet while I'm away; there will be quite a storm upon my return."

"You're resolved, then?" she asked.

"I am," he answered firmly. "This is long overdue, but there will be stiff opposition, make no mistake about that."

Elissa squeezed his hand. "There is one at least who supports your decision, husband."

"Thank you, darling, that means a lot," he replied, stroking her hand with his thumb. "If they run me out of Ferelden, at least I know you'll still be at my side."

"Let us hope it will not come to that," she said with a mock-serious look. "I rather like living here; the sheets are so soft. I don't know, Alistair, you might be on your own."

"Cheeky wench," he teased, and the two of them shared a laugh as they finished their supper.

~o~O~o~

Anders concentrated on steadying his breathing as he entered the courtyard; Varel was already deep in conversation with Garavel, who silently pointed at several of his men and beckoned them over.

Anders was on his own. _Right. This is what being Gabby's second is all about. Don't make a fool of yourself in front of Nate._

He trudged up the steps to the inner Keep, his stomach doing somersaults as he neared the main hall. He paused at the entrance for a moment, trying to recall whether Meredith had been in the hall at the same time as he and Gabby, cursing himself for not paying more attention.

He'd decided that he would first distract Gabby; he'd thought of the perfect excuse to call her away, and then, once she was out of the way,he would seek out Meredith.

He entered the hall and quickly scanned the interior. Most of its occupants had departed, leaving only a few domestic staff and the members of the Silver Order whom had just finished their shift. Meredith was not in the hall. He glanced over to where Malachy still sat, finishing his supper; Gabby, too, had departed.

"Mal?" he asked as he walked over to the knight. "How long ago did Gabby leave?"

"Um," Malachy mumbled with a mouthful of food. "About ten minutes ago."

"Any idea where she went?" asked Anders.

"Dunno, mate, sorry," replied Malachy. "Maybe the prayer room? She left with one of the templars; he looked a bit agitated, actually."

"W-what do you mean?" Anders exclaimed, his eyes wide as adrenaline coursed through his body. "_Which _templar? Which one, Mal?"

"The blond one," replied Malachy. "I can't remember his name. I don't really spend much time with them…"

"Silver Order!" Anders barked. "On your feet!"

The surprised knights looked at one another and slowly rose to their feet.

"Get over here, quick!" shouted Anders.

The knights, Malachy included, scrambled over to where Anders stood.

"I want Meredith Willoughby found and held! _Right now_!" he ordered. "And locate the Commander! If they're together, escort her to safety!"

"Yes, Warden!" the knights chorused, and Malachy, being their most senior member, began to split them into groups.

"Daniels!" Anders called, singling out one of their newer recruits. "Warden Howe is outside; tell him and that templar accompanying him to get in here and help with the search!" The young knight nodded briefly and ran out of the hall.

Anders turned to Malachy. "I want Willoughby taken alive if possible," he directed as he left the hall to begin his own search. "But you have my authorisation to take any and _all_ measures necessary to protect the Commander. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Warden," Malachy answered.

"Good, now go and find the fucker," Anders seethed as he rounded and left the hall.


End file.
